《Barry's life》 FOREWORD AND PROLOGUE FOREWORD: Thoughts To Catherine Langford To Steve Jablonsky To Lily, my ghost, my ward, and my muse. I wrote this story because I wanted to read it. PROLOGUE DAYDREAM Dream or die Daydreaming was her small act of rebellion in a world that didn''t make sense to her, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning to the time she went to sleep. But then, she saw, the world wouldn''t let her rebel that easily, even if her act was so quiet and discreet and non-boastful. In exchange of that emptiness she needed for her daydreams, it imposed her a loneliness that was so viscid, and the more she fought it, the more she was glued into it, restricted to stillness. She thought about it. It must mean that dreaming was a misuse of her existence. It must mean that she was doing life wrong. She became convinced of it. Daydreaming was guilty, a price to pay about that, it didn¡¯t amount to anything. It just built a feeling that rested on nothing tangible, raised no number in her monthly salary, magically repaired nothing in the list of issues her old car had under its hood, invited no solitude-breaking company within the four walls of her home. Produced no two point five kids, erected no picket fence, mowed no green lawn, grabbed no American dream by the collar, collected no coins for a savings account. Daydreaming was more than that, more than anything the existing world could build for a human being¡¯s content. One memory One day in June, she had been scolded by her aunt and Uncle because she had ignored their demands that she¡¯d be back before dark on a Friday night, when she was a young girl. It had happened just before her graduating seventh grade and technically she had been grounded for that, especially after the only response she had had to their reprimands was a blas¨¦ shrug, but she had gotten out of it during the twenty-four hours of her celebrating her graduation and the imminent start of the summer. The family had planned to take a boat tour on the Baltic Sea around the island of Br¨¹solln, accompanied by a little group of tourist. It was the end of Spring but a bit chilly that day, however, the water was calm. Such interaction with the wild sea breeze, hiding under anoraks, and taking pictures of holding each other against the wind had the power to turn any new teenager back to a child again and Eugenie and her guardians had laughed together and hung out. ¡°Whales!¡± they suddenly heard. Aunt Diana shuffled on Max¡¯s chest, her husband, to grab the camera he was holding hanging at the neck without turning her eyes away from the horizon where the crests of the waves mingled with some occasional peeping fins. Then a geyser of water launched itself upward from one of the cetacean¡¯s breathing hole. Eugenie had been shocked by how near those creatures were. The edges of a giant arm flipper caressed the surface. ¡°Here it is my love¡± Max handed the heavy camera to his wife, ¡°look at those fins¡± Eugenie had read about the excursion in advance and even seen pictures in the brochure distributed at the moment of reservation ¨Cthese days, you had to phone them to drive to the pier, there were no online tickets¡ª and the front page of the flyer was decorated by the impressive photograph of a whale who had entirely breeched the water and jumped in the air with the little boat of tourists in the background, for their delight. The rest of the documented images inside the brochure only showed faraway fins and blowholes little sparse volcanoes on the water that people used binoculars to see. They could easily be confused with some little mounds of rocks slicing out of the sea. Not that the creatures operated so far, but the water wasn¡¯t clear and the mix of living mastodon and dark liquid produced a non-contrasted result to the eye of the viewers on deck, and the whales seemed shy. She had a plan. Eugenie¡¯s heart skipped a beat as she undid the straps of her backpack, deposited it carefully on a bench near the boat¡¯s railway and fetched her scuba diving mask. ¡°Eugenie, what are you doing?¡± There was no time for thinking further about the validity of the plan, she saw, and she darted a panicked look at Diana and Max (they both ran marathons for fun in the summer but they were also gifted sprinters) before throwing her anorak on the group to distract her when she slid out of her sweatshirt. Running for the starboard as she knew that jumping in the water from the back of the boat was quite perilous, she unzipped her pants and just left them behind. ¡°NOO¡± She heard a collective protest in the back, not just her aunt and uncle but the entire crowd of the watchers as she flew in her underwear from the railing. Eugenie was an excellent swimmer, it was typical of Swedish people, and accustomed to the cold. Once in the water, she focused on her breathing, she knew that she would process the temperature quickly and that soon, it would become a simple envelope on her skin, something that wouldn¡¯t touch her mind ¨Conly in the long run would she have to be concerned by the effects of the cold and she knew she shouldn¡¯t linger more than five minutes in the water. She positioned the mask on her eyes and nose, took a big gulp of air and dove. The first thing she saw was the huge and dark eye of the whale that was closest to her, buried inside some thick fold of rubbery skin, and so much peace and what resembled infinite wisdom in it that Eugenie diverted her stare, intimidated.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Rookie mistake. Looking around while swimming in the open sea should only be done if one was ready to feel small and alone and easily to crush. Her white toes wriggled on top of total blackness from underneath and, glancing left and right, the same blackness, gargantuan. Only the two whales, themselves colossal, provided distraction from this dreadful and terror-inducing black hole, like a space station to which an astronaut could be tethered before a space walk. She swam up to the surface to recharge in air and waved reassuringly at her family and the people on the small boat, ¡°don¡¯t worry¡± she shouted, out of breath, ¡°I¡¯ll be back right away!¡± She didn¡¯t have a lot of time as, soon, the little ship would aim at her rescue and the engines and propellers would scare the whales away. Eugenie rinsed her mask with quivering fingers, their tip blue and purple, her index¡¯ fingernail surrounded by red, and she spat on the glass before putting the mask back on. She was right. She had totally forgotten about the coldness of the sea now that she was terrified about the desolate watery night underneath. But whales! When next would she be able to approach some whales so near? Never, she thought, as her punishment from Diana and Max would not only be restored and prolonged but she guessed that she would forever be kept from stepping on a whale-watching tour. Like a convict ready for the hanging offered one last cigarette, she dove again and, again, she was stunned by the paralyzing feeling that the abyss created in her; it was too abyssal and for an instant, she felt that she wouldn¡¯t be able to go on with her plan. Like a child wavering at zooming out of the basement and not looking back to forget the monsters below. Then, she heard the sound. Submerged in the water, through the deafening beats of her heart, she squinted her eyes inside the mask, as absurdly as someone looking for a street sign in a car lowered the volume of the radio to better see. It was a whale song. It began as crackles of bubbles, then tore through the fabric of the water and drilled into the ears of Eugenie. She shook as if she had been struck by an underwater shock wave. Something so heartbreaking, something so heavenly, the deep and hollow clicks following were creepy and menacing, like a siren forbidding trespass with a resounding click of her tongue, t t t t. And yet it nourished Eugenie through the pores of her skin and the veins in her body. Boosted by the whale song, she felt the fear distance itself and she swam closer to the whales in energetic strides. What a gorgeous pair they were. In that season, Eugenie doubted that those two were mother and baby, otherwise, baby would have been smaller. They were of the same immense size, only one looking more timid than the other and hiding behind the one whose eye was still pointed at Eugenie. The effects of the low temperature of her swim were commencing to be felt in her body, tingles in her fingers, the heels of her feet, heavy limbs, light head, but Eugenie knew it was her last chance. She pierced the line of the surface one last time to inhale some big air, found her lungs strained by the pressure of the cold. She was running out of time but, when it came to apnea, she had one more breathing trick up her sleeve she had learned competing with bigger kids who challenged her at the fjiord for touching the deep algae bottom and retrieve a little crowned coin or a shiny stone or some keys to a home hanging on some leather lace. In reality, it was how one was meant to survive falling through a crack of ice with the freezing temperatures making it virtually impossible for muscles like the diaphragm to move, paralyzing a person into suffocating. It was training breath to happen on its own without effort but, Eugenie had noticed, it was an exercise that could extend holding one¡¯s breath too, if no falling was involved into frosty pool and no survival was at stake. Eugenie knew how to do it. She paused between undulating water and fixed sky, and inhaled. She held herself floating there long enough so she could count thirty quickening breaths in of actively absorbed air, swallowed down and expelled strongly, quaking inside her like a balloon ready to be freed to the sky, before she rolled down and dove below the waves again, mouth closed. She had had to accelerate this enterprise in order to escape the rescue mission the boat was conducting on her, but it would work. She fought some dizziness, more motivated than ever; that sort of drawing in raspy air was buzzing and inverting cardinal points, and it was normal. Hello she greeted the whales. The one in front of her seemed to be doing a slow and graceful waltz, movements that, now and again, exposed her belly which would then propagate a flash of white through the darkness. The song was transcending. Eugenie thrashed her arms around to lower herself as deep as she could in order to be able to levitate somewhat in front of the face of the animal. Eugenie felt like if the whale rose her flipper, she could swat her away, or shake her hand. The spell of the encounter and the face to face finally grabbed her by the throat and the heart and she started weeping inside her mask but her chest was laughing hysterically. She did a circling motion with her right arm in the water to indicate a salute, since her mast was too foggy to be able to establish real eye contact. All fear sank at the bottom of the sea, that black bottom that she couldn¡¯t distinguish, leaving her behind, up there, letting Eugenie¡¯s weightless body continue flapping and kicking to maintain her hovering position. Wildly, she saw that they were both two children of the earth, the whale and she, and the whale¡¯s more guarded friend in the back. Three children of the sea. There wasn¡¯t anything to fear about that black fog surrounding everything down there, there wasn¡¯t vertigo to have about the immensity of the deserted landscape around her. It was a big womb, it was meant for humans to dive into it and survive, for Homo Sapiens to be able to encounter wild whales and connect with them. When later she learned about people being born with mutated genes and, more specifically, when she comprehended that there were people who could control time, she would often think about that moment. Nothing existed anymore but Eugenie and the two whales, in a place of openness, not emptiness, but openness, and in a place where time didn¡¯t exist anymore. Eugenie couldn¡¯t say if she was being capricious because she dared resupplying in air above or if she lingered there with the sufficient amount stored in her lungs. The shadow of the boat coming to fish her out of the water hadn''t materialized above yet so, technically, she could do it. Those were faraway preoccupations, so she ignored them, she knew from experience in the water how to add weight to her body so she could dive lower, descend towards the whales. She mouthed an O and let go of most of her air she had collected, felt the pull of her dip increase, her movements follow her thinking. Now it was time for the apnea magic. She was empty of air but he had breathed hard enough up there, at the surface, nourished her lungs capillaries enough with stored oxygen that they would rise up and down inside her chest as if moved by a remotely activated life, her lungs would still swell up with air and breathe for her, not responding to breathing movements she made, but just functioning out of pure mechanics. Having practiced this technique enough times through the years, Eugenie knew not to panic when she felt like bursting and gasping for air was impending: her lungs would just pick up the task then, and resume their autonomous breathing. Believing and trusting this process when you were trying it out on land with the birds singing on trees was one thing, but doing it under four meters of water was like a superpower. For Eugenie, it was magic. She blew out her last air, completely abandoned to her faith in her lungs, her soul swallowed by the round eye of the whale and her ears melting under the song, and her eyes hooked on the sheer size of that animal. Her brain¡¯s message, to hurry for the surface ¨Cthere aren''t any ups and downs anymore, she opposed¡ª, to stop wasting time ¨Cthere is no time¡ª, manifested from another dimension which she had left behind now, it struggled to get to her, muffled. Her body lost sensations of cold or hot, all physical warnings of danger ¨Cthat alone should have been warning enough. The boat coming for her was almost there, she could hear the faint calling of her name from way above her. Cocooned by the rising and falling of her lungs out of magic inside her body, she felt she could drift to sleep, right there and then. Happy, she nodded to the whale and dove forward, swam in the direction of the massive flipper. She would shake her hand or die trying. FOREWORD and prologue FOREWORD : Thoughts To Catherine Langford To Steve Jablonsky To Lily, my ghost, my ward, and my muse. I wrote this story because I wanted to read it. PROLOGUE DAYDREAM Dream or die Daydreaming was her small act of rebellion in a world that didn''t make sense to her, from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning to the time she went to sleep. But then, she saw, the world wouldn''t let her rebel that easily, even if her act was so quiet and discreet and non-boastful. In exchange of that emptiness she needed for her daydreams, it imposed her a loneliness that was so viscid, and the more she fought it, the more she was glued into it, restricted to stillness. She thought about it. It must mean that dreaming was a misuse of her existence. It must mean that she was doing life wrong. She became convinced of it. Daydreaming was guilty, a price to pay about that, it didn¡¯t amount to anything. It just built a feeling that rested on nothing tangible, raised no number in her monthly salary, magically repaired nothing in the list of issues her old car had under its hood, invited no solitude-breaking company within the four walls of her home. Produced no two point five kids, erected no picket fence, mowed no green lawn, grabbed no American dream by the collar, collected no coins for a savings account. Daydreaming was more than that, more than anything the existing world could build for a human being¡¯s content. One memory One day in June, she had been scolded by her aunt and uncle because she had ignored their demands that she¡¯d be back before dark on a Friday night, when she was a young girl. It had happened just before her graduating seventh grade and technically she had been grounded for that, especially after the only response she had had to their reprimands was a blas¨¦ shrug, but she had gotten out of it during the twenty-four hours of her celebrating her graduation and the imminent start of the summer. The family had planned to take a boat tour on the Baltic Sea around the island of Br¨¹solln, accompanied by a little group of tourist. It was the end of Spring but a bit chilly that day, however, the water was calm. Such interaction with the wild sea breeze, hiding under anoraks, and taking pictures of holding each other against the wind had the power to turn any new teenager back to a child again and Eugenie and her guardians had laughed together and hung out. ¡°Whales!¡± they suddenly heard. Aunt Diana shuffled on Max¡¯s chest, her husband, to grab the camera he was holding hanging at the neck without turning her eyes away from the horizon where the crests of the waves mingled with some occasional peeping fins. Then a geyser of water launched itself upward from one of the cetacean¡¯s breathing hole. Eugenie had been shocked by how near those creatures were. The edges of a giant arm flipper caressed the surface. ¡°Here it is my love¡± Max handed the heavy camera to his wife, ¡°look at those fins¡± Eugenie had read about the excursion in advance and even seen pictures in the brochure distributed at the moment of reservation ¨Cthese days, you had to phone them to drive to the pier, there were no online tickets¡ª and the front page of the flyer was decorated by the impressive photograph of a whale who had entirely breached the water and jumped in the air with the little boat of tourists in the background, for their delight. The rest of the documented images inside the brochure only showed faraway fins and blowholes little sparse volcanoes on the water that people used binoculars to see. They could easily be confused with some little mounds of rocks slicing out of the sea. Not that the creatures operated so far, but the water wasn¡¯t clear and the mix of living mastodon and dark liquid produced a non-contrasted result to the eye of the viewers on deck, and the whales seemed shy. She had a plan. Eugenie¡¯s heart skipped a beat as she undid the straps of her backpack, deposited it carefully on a bench near the boat¡¯s railway and fetched her scuba diving mask. ¡°Eugenie, what are you doing?¡± There was no time for thinking further about the validity of the plan, she saw, and she darted a panicked look at Diana and Max (they both ran marathons for fun in the summer but they were also gifted sprinters) before throwing her anorak on the group to distract her. Then she slid out of her sweatshirt. Running for the starboard as she knew that jumping in the water from the back of the boat was quite perilous, she unzipped her pants and just left them behind. ¡°NOO¡± She heard a collective protest in the back, not just her aunt and uncle but the entire crowd of the watchers as she flew in her underwear from the railing. Eugenie was an excellent swimmer, it was typical of Swedish people, and accustomed to the cold. Once in the water, she focused on her breathing, she knew that she would process the temperature quickly and that soon, it would become a simple envelope on her skin, something that wouldn¡¯t touch her mind ¨Conly in the long run would she have to be concerned by the effects of the cold and she knew she shouldn¡¯t linger more than five minutes in the water. She positioned the mask on her eyes and nose, took a big gulp of air and dove. The first thing she saw was the huge and dark eye of the whale that was closest to her, buried inside some thick fold of rubbery skin, and so much peace and what resembled infinite wisdom in it that Eugenie diverted her stare, intimidated.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Rookie mistake. Looking around while swimming in the open sea should only be done if one was ready to feel small and alone and easy to crush. Her white toes wriggled on top of total blackness from underneath and, glancing left and right, the same blackness, gargantuan. Only the two whales, themselves colossal, provided distraction from this dreadful and terror-inducing black hole, like a space station to which an astronaut could be tethered before a space walk. She swam up to the surface to recharge in air and waved reassuringly at her family and the people on the small boat, ¡°don¡¯t worry¡± she shouted, out of breath, ¡°I¡¯ll be back right away!¡± She didn¡¯t have a lot of time as, soon, the little ship would aim at her rescue and the engines and propellers would scare the whales away. Eugenie rinsed her mask with quivering fingers, their tip blue and purple, her index¡¯ fingernail surrounded by red, and she spat on the glass before putting the mask back on. She was right. She had totally forgotten about the coldness of the sea now that she was terrified about the desolate watery night underneath. But whales! When next would she be able to approach some whales so near? Never, she thought, as her punishment from Diana and Max would not only be restored and prolonged but she guessed that she would forever be kept from stepping on a whale-watching tour. Like a convict ready for the hanging offered one last cigarette, she dove again and, again, she was stunned by the paralyzing feeling that the abyss created in her; it was too abyssal and for an instant, she felt that she wouldn¡¯t be able to go on with her plan. Like a child wavering at zooming out of the basement and not looking back to forget the monsters below. Then, she heard the sound. Submerged in the water, through the deafening beats of her heart, she squinted her eyes inside the mask, as absurdly as someone looking for a street sign in a car lowered the volume of the radio to better see. It was a whale song. It began as crackles of bubbles, then tore through the fabric of the water and drilled into the ears of Eugenie. She shook as if she had been struck by an underwater shock wave. Something so heartbreaking, something so heavenly, the deep and hollow clicks following were creepy and menacing, like a siren forbidding trespass with a resounding click of her tongue, t t t t. And yet it nourished Eugenie through the pores of her skin and the veins in her body. Boosted by the whale song, she felt the fear distance itself and she swam closer to the whales in energetic strides. What a gorgeous pair they were. In that season, Eugenie doubted that those two were mother and baby, otherwise, baby would have been smaller. They were of the same immense size, only one looking more timid than the other and hiding behind the one whose eye was still pointed at Eugenie. The effects of the low temperature of her swim were commencing to be felt in her body, tingles in her fingers, the heels of her feet, heavy limbs, light head, but Eugenie knew it was her last chance. She pierced the line of the surface one last time to inhale some big air, found her lungs strained by the pressure of the cold. She was running out of time but, when it came to apnea, she had one more breathing trick up her sleeve she had learned competing with bigger kids who challenged her at the fjord for touching the deep algae bottom and retrieve a little crowned coin or a shiny stone or some keys to a home hanging on some leather lace. In reality, it was how one was meant to survive falling through a crack of ice with the freezing temperatures making it virtually impossible for muscles like the diaphragm to move, paralyzing a person into suffocating. It was training breath to happen on its own without effort but, Eugenie had noticed, it was an exercise that could extend holding one¡¯s breath too, if no falling was involved into frosty pool and no survival was at stake. Eugenie knew how to do it. She paused between undulating water and fixed sky, and inhaled. She held herself floating there long enough so she could count thirty quickening breaths in of actively absorbed air, swallowed down and expelled strongly, quaking inside her like a balloon ready to be freed to the sky, before she rolled down and dove below the waves again, mouth closed. She had had to accelerate this enterprise in order to escape the rescue mission the boat was conducting on her, but it would work. She fought some dizziness, more motivated than ever; that sort of drawing in raspy air was buzzing and inverting cardinal points, and it was normal. Hello she greeted the whales. The one in front of her seemed to be doing a slow and graceful waltz, movements that, now and again, exposed her belly which would then propagate a flash of white through the darkness. The song was transcending. Eugenie thrashed her arms around to lower herself as deep as she could in order to be able to levitate somewhat in front of the face of the animal. Eugenie felt like if the whale rose her flipper, she could swat her away, or shake her hand. The spell of the encounter and the face to face finally grabbed her by the throat and the heart and she started weeping inside her mask but her chest was laughing hysterically. She did a circling motion with her right arm in the water to indicate a salute, since her mast was too foggy to be able to establish real eye contact. All fear sank at the bottom of the sea, that black bottom that she couldn¡¯t distinguish, leaving her behind, up there, letting Eugenie¡¯s weightless body continue flapping and kicking to maintain her hovering position. Wildly, she saw that they were both two children of the earth, the whale and she, and the whale¡¯s more guarded friend in the back. Three children of the sea. There wasn¡¯t anything to fear about that black fog surrounding everything down there, there wasn¡¯t vertigo to have about the immensity of the deserted landscape around her. It was a big womb, it was meant for humans to dive into it and survive, for Homo Sapiens to be able to encounter wild whales and connect with them. When later she learned about people being born with mutated genes and, more specifically, when she comprehended that there were people who could control time, she would often think about that moment. Nothing existed anymore but Eugenie and the two whales, in a place of openness, not emptiness, but openness, and in a place where time didn¡¯t exist anymore. Eugenie couldn¡¯t say if she was being capricious because she dared resupplying in air above or if she lingered there with the sufficient amount stored in her lungs. The shadow of the boat coming to fish her out of the water hadn''t materialized above yet so, technically, she could do it. Those were faraway preoccupations, so she ignored them, she knew from experience in the water how to add weight to her body so she could dive lower, descend towards the whales. She mouthed an O and let go of most of her air she had collected, felt the pull of her dip increase, her movements follow her thinking. Now it was time for the apnea magic. She was empty of air but he had breathed hard enough up there, at the surface, nourished her lungs capillaries enough with stored oxygen that they would rise up and down inside her chest as if moved by a remotely activated life, her lungs would still swell up with air and breathe for her, not responding to breathing movements she made, but just functioning out of pure mechanics. Having practiced this technique enough times through the years, Eugenie knew not to panic when she felt like bursting and gasping for air was impending: her lungs would just pick up the task then, and resume their autonomous breathing. Believing and trusting this process when you were trying it out on land with the birds singing on trees was one thing, but doing it under four meters of water was like a superpower. For Eugenie, it was magic. She blew out her last air, completely abandoned to her faith in her lungs, her soul swallowed by the round eye of the whale and her ears melting under the song, and her eyes hooked on the sheer size of that animal. Her brain¡¯s message, to hurry for the surface ¨Cthere aren''t any ups and downs anymore, she opposed¡ª, to stop wasting time ¨Cthere is no time¡ª, manifested from another dimension which she had left behind now, it struggled to get to her, muffled. Her body lost sensations of cold or hot, all physical warnings of danger ¨Cthat alone should have been warning enough. The boat coming for her was almost there, she could hear the faint calling of her name from way above her. Cocooned by the rising and falling of her lungs out of magic inside her body, she felt she could drift to sleep, right there and then. Happy, she nodded to the whale and dove forward, swam in the direction of the massive flipper. She would shake her hand or die trying. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (1) 2020 Friday There was always something refreshing about running without bolting, so Barry climbed the entire set of stairs spiraling inside the building in what he liked to call ¡®the earthly way¡¯. It was a nice name, referring to the idea of soles of feet gripping the ground before launching into the race, like a cheetah¡¯s non-retractable claws, and finding some kind of might from the earth itself. Opposed to what? He often wondered. As if his superpower came from, where? Space? An extraterrestrial origin, such as Superman¡¯s in the comic books? Who cared, it was nice to think of it that way. Barry thrived to live a simple life with very straightforward fantasies. Plus, he didn¡¯t feel the need to bolt all the time. At this point of his vigilante career, he was in flawless shape. Everything in him ran before he even thought of it, everything moved and swung with infinite grace, everything was strength, unfiltered, unaltered, unburdened strength. After running every day, jumping around, literally doing nothing else, his body had become a running and jumping machine. He felt often like he could fly, and sometimes, something whispered to his ear, while he was in the midst of the bolt¡¯s blue iridescent lightnings, that perhaps he would. After conquering the stairs without using his power, Barry sighed with satisfaction and passed the little door leading to the cabinet at the threshold of the rooftop. The first thing he saw was the sparks glittering on the helmets of a row of a dozen droids, as the rain had lightly begun to fall. OH SHIT. The survival fear of the lizard part of his brain, under the cerebellum, flashed with distress, but he didn¡¯t have time to reception it nor draw any kind of analysis from it, because one nanosecond after he entered the narrow hall, all the droids cannons fired at him. He hunched his shoulders forward and produced a strong bolt, his mind now devoted whole to slaloming between the hungry bullets which presented themselves as an eager wall of shiny dots, resembling some kind of passionate audience to greet his arrival and desiring to eat him up. It proved more difficult than he thought due to the large number of the shots but with a few back drops and twists of his spine, he rotated through all the projectiles with sophistication. Landing in a superhero pause at the end of the motion, he turned around and faced the mrai moumous, ready to kick some ass. Something caught his eye at this moment, while the bubble of the bolt around him hadn¡¯t even completely dissolved yet. It was another bullet, still slowed down by his spell but advancing mercilessly towards him and the soapy shield around him. Oh fuck, Barry thought, oh no, and his hand slid forward in front of him in a reflex defensive move like he wished to swat the thing away or asked for rendition. At the same time, a red flashing alarm began to pour down through his brain and ring his ears. There wasn¡¯t much that he could do except watch the sheltering bolt bubble evaporate and the tiny piece of metal continue its course. OH NO. They were locked on colliding paths and an instant of horror unfolded on Barry¡¯s most recent log of deplorable things, and then something whispered in his ear, brace. The bubble melted in a cozy plic, its skinny wet membrane pierced at the last instant by the steel. ¡°Motherfu¡± BRACE There was that. The shot cut him in half and projected him backwards against the wall behind him. The smash was spirit-scattering and he barely caught his fall midway, bounced back on the ground rockily, eyeing the window on the side, already bending his knees to aim at it. Barry ignored the quake wave that the impact had created and that was still in birth-motion through his body and limbs, thrusting himself into the leap. He was about to glide through it when a second detonation crackled behind him and another long needle of hot air went through the top part of his arm, spinning him like a ballet dancer while still in hopping mode, so Barry lost his footing and fell like a stone down the building he had just climbed. Such ¨¦lan, he saw and, now, such disgrace. What the fuck, his neurons raced to compute how everything fit with everything else and nothing, but speed was no longer on his side. He fell down ten stories, went through a glass roof, then a different straw roof extension, then a laminated plastic umbrella before landing savagely at the back of a truck carrying some bags of sand. The crash spat the vehicle into some swerving madness on the side while meeting some upcoming traffic and, only because the driver must have been extremely skilled, it veered again and found a balance. The man hit the brakes in a mighty screech, three manoeuvres which sent Barry flying on all sides of the truck like the little ball of an ancient flipper station. Throwing an arm out blindly, he was able to take hold on the railing of the cargo and pull himself under its skinny refuge. He glued himself against the metal wall and waited without moving for what was to follow, deafened by the tremorous beats of his heart. ¡°What the hell fell into my truck?¡± the driver was infuriated but so were four or five other commuters who had to avoid a pileup and had been forced to park in a Tetris formation. The sounds of the voices of humans reached Barry¡¯s ears, and he heard some car doors slam, some footsteps and some perplexed comments, theories, like, it was a bird, like an eagle, like a TV, like a grand piano, like a person. A person. Barry tucked himself closer to the meager wall. And yet in his brain, the urgency of the people gathering around him while he was in a vulnerable and exposed position was not met by the urgency of the predicament he knew he was carrying from his encounter with the robots at the top of the building. In his dispersed brain, there was a reality in which he had been shot in the arm, but he wasn¡¯t sure which arm it was anymore, especially after tumbling like some dirty laundry on top of so many bags of hard sand, which had inverted the nodes in his brain. Nothing seemed to hinder any arm movements of his at this point and as adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, but there had been another shot, of greater concern, that had snapped him like a twig in the middle of his stomach. His hand brushed against it and he felt something warm and wet. Something very wet and sticky. Now was the time to completely freak out. Barry couldn¡¯t think of what to do next because he knew that he was waiting for the pain.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. And it came right away. Without ceremony or outside trigger, the center of his abdomen exploded. Following this geyser of lava, the burst of fire dried out the air inside his lungs at once, expelling a drop of saliva in the air quite elegantly from his lips. He opened his mouth desperately to invite more oxygen in but, his feet kicking chaotically under the assault of the anguish, he managed only to push himself backwards and slide into a crevasse between some of the sandbags. He became engulfed by darkness and dust, sucked down and squeezed like some slime in the hands of a furious child. Thrashing around only helped bury him deeper until his butt hit something hard, the bottom of the truck. It was time to bolt, he saw, as the weight of the bags was too great and there was now a small crowd of people amassed around the truck. He could recognize where there weren¡¯t any other options. Executing a bolt in the middle of civilians in a covert mission wasn¡¯t so recommended, as there were many security cameras planted here and there on the street and modern technology was easily able to slow down a video to get acquainted with the details of a person trying to hide in supersonic speed, but Barry was running out of ideas. And in the middle of his current distress, he found the path to speed and force tedious. There was an absence of muscle memory he identified, swallowed entirely by the pain, and he couldn¡¯t remember where his legs were, where his arms were. He couldn¡¯t remember anything. A larger bag at the top of the pile under which he was stuck tilted down and collapsed on him, blocking any exit. You¡¯ve got to be kidding mee ¡°Bolt motherfucker bolt¡± he finally fumed enough to recover the gist of it and, with the energy of despair, produced another very small bubble that punched the sides of the sandbags and created a big enough opening. Using the electrical impulse from deep within him, Barry felt the ache become more distant, as if dulled itself by the sphere of magic around him. The sounds fainted sourdine, underwater-like and the dash propelled him up through the ample passage between the sacks, until he could climb up. At the top of the cargo, out of ideas, he rolled hopelessly off the railway but landed on the concrete road with learned grace. Upon hitting the hard ground, another blast of pain tore open inside of his stomach and he was forced to his knees in a hiccup, one fist down, before collapsing entirely on his side holding himself with both arms. His feet pedaled aimlessly in the void and his face melted against the asphalt. Barry curled into a fetal position. How was such suffering possible? How would he survive it? An owl-like moan escaped his lips, muffled by the dryness of the absence of air, breathe, breathe! But he couldn¡¯t, he couldn¡¯t even scream or call anyone, somewhere between his stomach and his mouth, the oxygen was cut off, forbidden, and all he was swallowing were little wheezes. He kept wheezing and suffocating, swung his head up and saw the dozen pairs of legs of the spectators still frozen into the bolt bubble around him, a lady pointing an accusatory finger at the truck, offended to have her evening plans interrupted by such nonsense. Help mee, Barry closed his eyes and seriously thought about sticking here and just letting time resume its course, abandoning his fate to the people at the scene and waiting for them to see that he was hurt and assist him, are you FUCKING INSANE, a voice thundered between his two cerebral hemispheres and, with it, the air returned. Surprisingly thick and warm. He opened his eyes wide and upwards and the air poured down Barry¡¯s throat, burning, and the dusk sky poured into his eyes. It was some hot air, which drilled into his gut with more fire, particles of dust from the pollution, the sand and the rocky landscape of the road faults mixing with his own inside incendiaries, but it was air. Barry took a big gulp of it and breathed it avidly. His whole body started trembling at the passage of the air. He breathed more and allowed himself a few more seconds of being rolled into a ball. The middle of his body was now very wet, his hands slimy against his suit. He stuck one arm out of his lonely embrace and attempted to lift himself up on one elbow. It was simply impossible. A large piece of scorching rock was stuck diagonally inside his abdomen, making it impossible to move without it grating and scratching, stirring fire in fire. ¡°Get up get up get uup¡± He dragged himself forward a little bit, like a slug rubbing its belly against the cement, pulled by his one free hand. Impossible, he swallowed hard, shook his head. This method of traveling wasn¡¯t going to function either. Barry couldn¡¯t accept this, or, if he did, then what? Between two impossibles he went ahead and fought the lesser of the two. Endangering his identity led to putting the ones of his teammates at risk and to adding catastrophe to disaster. Hanging out defeated and flat on the ground and letting the bubble of bolt dissipate and just waiting would bring threat to more than just himself. He had to get a grip. ¡°Come ooon¡± he pushed firmly on his arm and hand again in a frustrated groan, let go of his abdomen and added the other hand into the motion and, finally he gained a little bit of altitude. Get uup! Huffing and puffing his newly restored breath, Barry sent another bolt wave around him, which undulated through the previous one while that one was sill closing in, and the soup of both was probably going to inflict some harm to the eardrums of the bystanders on its path and swelling. Nothing irreparable though, Barry thought with a mix of remorse and self-forgiveness, as he didn¡¯t see how he could rise up again without the juice of his power. It did the trick indeed and gathered his knees under his butt, straightened them and boosted him standing up, one hand clinging to his stomach, and he fell against a parking meter, the top of his body crumbled on it for another precious second. Hanging forward, he felt two heavy tears drop from his eyes and watched them mix with a small puddle of very red blood that already seemed to follow his path. Jesus Christ. WALK, he did, but tripped on his own feet and fell on one knee once more, stopped his descent with one hand, used the bolting energy to stretch up again and then at last managed to take a few zigzag steps. He was in total disbelief of what was happening to him. How could you, one moment of your existence, stand tall and healthy and moving agilely through every day between sunrise to sunset and, the next, be vanquished ever so mercilessly and unable to align one foot after the other? Somewhere in this state of refusal and incredulity he felt the wetness of his stomach trickle under his knees and reach the heel of his left foot. There is some blood in my shoe. The fear of death crept up inside his heart. He knew this feeling, he had known it before, only one short time, soon passed, but he had been introduced to it. The physical manifestation of this fear before the intellectual idea followed, was enough in one¡¯s chest to shake anyone in their boots and he felt his own heart squeezed by it and his teeth chatter inside his mouth. It was something that, even soon parted with, couldn¡¯t be forgotten, something that an organism remembered in each cell, and it could become very paralyzing. The best advice about this phenomenon had come from Darlene, ¡®don¡¯t think about death¡¯ He focused on walking, fell into a garbage container before hitting a mailbox and barely avoided collision with another car, then saw his destination in the distance between the brown trees: the Jolly Bar, which had opened just a few hours ago in the early afternoon. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (2) Friday So Barry tilted his head to frame the door of the bar as his main aim, managed to contort himself between it and one of the waiters who was holding it half open, the expression on the face of the man blocked mid-smile, then he found himself in the large dining hall full of customers. They had all been reached by the ripple of his time freeze so Barry had to be very careful, not to proceed too brutally and turn the place into a human bowling alley with all the people and chairs and table flying around. One slight twitch of his hand and every obstacle inanimate or human, would be swatted away at savage speed. Everyone¡¯s hair in the hall was floating as if underwater between the flares of blue electricity in quite a beautiful scene, and Barry thought that it had been a while since last time he bolted through such an ample crowd. Bolting was such a rebirth, if done well, and Barry¡¯s organism sucked avidly on the blue juice, orienting its use towards hyper-focus, his senses sharpened to cut through a massive flow of information and data, angles of movements, positions of people around him, aborted gestures to be able to identify the best course. His eyes landed on a black hooded sweatshirt neatly folded at the back of a chair where a very big man was sitting, his glass of beer suspended in its trip from the table to his mouth. Barry swiftly grabbed it and stuck it under his arm, then helped himself to the two towels at the side of the man. He had to be particularly cautious with his feet, any sudden turn or braking able to cause substantial damage in the flooring, and he was thinking about that when his ears intercepted the very faint slow-motion rubbing of something made of plastic, behind him. You are going TOO FAST, too fast, however, moved by the urgency of the situation, he set out to spin and U-turn. That was a spectacular move in such a tight space, equivalent to a train going 180 inside a closet and the heels of his feet dug into the floor, unfortunately projecting one or two tiles from the crust of it in the air. Could be worse. He would have shrugged if he had been able to, but every movement had to be considered with parsimony here. He kept following the feeble sound of plastic squeaking, for he knew exactly what it was: tape. A bartender was using it, transfixed while rolling it around a pipe behind the counter at the back of a huge coffee machine. Barry shook his head, he didn¡¯t have a choice, he needed that tape. The jump he performed over the counter, followed by a graceful glide, was a masterpiece of bolting manoeuvre and he smoothly seized the tape from the man¡¯s hand while miraculously sparing all of his fingers from getting pulverized, but then, redirecting his course, he dropped it. It was a thick roll and cascaded in the air before landing in a row of wine glasses, tossing them into a circular glass halo which would, at the end of the bolt, probably send some of them to hook into the ceiling. Someone could walk in following such event and comment on the originality of the decoration.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. OH SHIT, Barry deplored, he had lost the tape! A multicolored spool of string caught his eye at the end of the bar, which was not as useful as tape but could be of assistance, so he seized it, unable to back down at this point. The restrooms were located at the bottom of a very narrow flight of stairs and Barry didn¡¯t have any time or angle for that, so he held his breath and leaped it, once more causing some destruction to the concrete floor that welcomed him underground, I¡¯m so sorry, he thought, unable to process his guilt about the property damage he was inflicting on this innocent bar and its people but, still in the race, he made a surgically precise intrusion into the women¡¯s bathroom, one lady halted in the middle of the task of washing her hands. There, he banged against the dispenser for menstruation products. He was running dangerously low on adrenaline and bolting power and, inside his entrails, the pain was menacing to overcome everything again, so he gave up on gentleness, I¡¯m so incredibly sorry, for fuck¡¯s sake, punching against the dispenser to unhinge it from the wall. His exit from the women¡¯s bathroom created a mini tornado from the spinning, lifting the woman¡¯s dress. If anyone exited the stalls after time resumed at this moment, the details of her panties would be visible to all for a brief second. At last he braked in front of the toilet for handicapped users and straightened his spine, coming to a stop. He couldn¡¯t risk damaging this door, it was his door, and the place where he wished to be was behind it. With the bolt finally coming to a close and shutting around him, retracting from the bar and its surroundings, a cacophony of glass breaking, tile hitting one another, the resuming of the loud music blasting from the place¡¯s radio, shouts such as ¡°where the fuck is my tape?¡± burst from the floor above him. Several women he had left behind in the ladies¡¯ room screamed briefly. Resolved to ignore everything until later when he¡¯d come back and possibly find a way to compensate the bar owners for all the wreck, Barry carefully opened the door of the handicapped quarters using his elbow on the handle to avoid leaving any trace of blood on his passage, slid into the room, praying no one with a handicap needed to use the toilet at the moment, locked the door behind him. He disintegrated against the wall and dropped on the ground with all his supplies like he was a rock to the sea. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (3) Friday Barry closed the door and worked on the lock for a good twenty-five seconds, and then the bolt faded in thin air and he liquefied against the wall, avalanched entirely on the floor with his supplies, holding himself with both hands. He buried his chin inside the collar of his suit and shouted ¡°FUUUCK¡± Another shout came out from deep inside his throat but, this time, he shoved one hand between his teeth and chewed on his knuckles, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. The little handicapped bathroom was now his shelter, but it was still a public place. How could events turn so bleak so quickly? Barry rubbed his forehead against the damp wallpaper, banged his head on it in an attempt to escape the anguish at the middle of his body, ¡°fuuu fuuuuhh fuhh hohy hffhih¡± he whimpered with his hand in his mouth. His other hand clutching his stomach, he felt the dampness of his suit; it was soaked, and having spent a little while in a vertical position, the wetness had reached below his knees. Not good, not good AT ALL, ¡°I know!¡± he yelled to himself, accidentally sending some electricity upward. It shook the little light bulb above him. ¡°Aiille fuuck¡± he couldn¡¯t avoid examining himself any longer. Barry inhaled sharply and looked down, slid his shaky hand away from his stomach, ¡°ohmygod¡± A huge hole with shredded edges was gaping just above his belly button, slightly on the left side. He could already feel that small difference in a new order inside his body, sending some avid tongues of fire up his left flank, down to his waist and his leg. ¡°Aiille fuuck ohmygod¡± the feeling of imminent vomiting fell heavy on his chest at the sight of the blood, which was really his main issue at the moment, and his drenched sticky fingers were no longer doing much for him. He re-positioned his hand on his abdomen and painfully launched the other to bring closer the little pile of supplies that had fallen near him. A roll of shoelaces, some women¡¯s pads snatched from the entrance dispenser, two rags including one that was still covered in breadcrumbs, a huge navy-blue hooded sweatshirt, that¡¯s all he had managed to gather as necessities in this escape-slash-rebound slaloming mission. He shook his head, disappointed. The sight of the things wasn¡¯t as comforting as he would have thought. Really? You have been shot by a gun and now you¡¯re going to rotisserie chicken yourself? He really had to discontinue scolding himself so harshly right now, ¡°it¡¯s okay¡± he said. With his one free hand, he grabbed the roll of laces and scratched out the tip from it, placed it between his teeth. Some families of ants were strolling up and down his left arm, they were wearing some sharp little shoes, and he guessed it was the arm where he had been shot just before dropping from the top of the building, but he could still move quite normally, so Barry did his best to ignore the situation. He pressed one of the napkins against his stomach, stiffened and bit his lips and then waited a couple of minutes for the pain to recede. Well that¡¯s too bad ¡®cause the pain won¡¯t recede. Indeed it would not recede, he saw sadly, so he went to the next step and tied the clean rag on top of the pad, ¡°Jesuus aiille fuuck ohmygod¡± the tightness was really an agony, but he had to go on, it was now time for rapid action, as his butt was marinating in some fresh blood, so he rolled himself into the thin string, braced for the knot, ¡°motherf¡ª¡± His feet kicked the emptiness, stomped on the floor. His exhausted arm fell on his side. Now what? He heard his own breath wheezing at the exit of his mouth. Now what. A break, he thought, blowing some hot air and closing his eyes. He let his head fall back against the wall behind him. Now what? The voice insisted. Maybe I need to go to a hospital. Are. You. Fucking. Nuts? Yeah no, okay, you¡¯re right, he shook his head, felt the tears bite into his sinuses. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to spread himself on the ground and get assistance, nowhere to find his team. He was hurt and he was completely on his own. He blinked some eye water away and squinted through the dust floating in the bathroom, observed the slit-like window carved at the top of the wall above the toilet, which opened to the ground level of the street adjacent to the bar. The familiar chiming of a bus rang through the business of the avenue. The dimming light from outside was carving a path of glitter like a hanging line through the bathroom, reminding Barry of the existence of the world around him. He knew exactly where he had ended, as he was very acquainted with that specific intersection. He closed his eyes again, as moving them inside their globes in the open air hurt too.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it I¡¯m going to go there, I don¡¯t have another option. Against all odds, the voice wasn¡¯t critical of this idea, however crazy it was. Walk there, Barry heard. I can¡¯t walk. You can bolt. I can¡¯t move my ass, he sighed. You can bolt! You can always bolt, Barry Masquevert. I can bolt, alright, he let the tears fall freely on his cheeks. They too seemed possessed by some fire and burned through the dirt on his skin. Stop this pain, stop this anguish, he begged. Stop thinking about how much you are hurting, a sorry remark came to him once more. Remember, replacing movement by movement, it¡¯s easier than moving out of stillness. What the fuck does that even mean Barry nodded to the voice and its unexpected wisdom, remember, just don¡¯t stop moving, ¡°I got it OKAY?¡± he snapped at the messenger inside his head, exasperated, and extended a leg to attempt to bring the large dark sweater he had snatched from one of the bar¡¯s patrons on his bolt through the dining hall. That leg was stuck half bent, it was really throbbing from the crooked path of the bullet inside his gut, so he tried with his other leg. Success! With great difficulty, he coiffed himself with the hood and looked up at the small sink on his left. The plan was slowly materializing in his brain. He would wash up so as to look presentable to the outside for a very temporary adventure on the street, and then he would bolt, and the bolt would carry him to the bus, and then, motherfucker, you can¡¯ t be serious, he would take the bus. His spirit broke at the idea of himself, a speed-of-light type of person, a superhero from the racing kind of them, forced to use public transportation. While he was deploring his current fate and without letting go of his stomach, Barry tossed one hand up and hooked it on the sink. He took a quivering breath and pulled, ¡°motherfu¡ª¡± Impossible again. Two hands, probably, were necessary. Some leg power as well. He retreated into the darkness inside again: now he was seeing the importance of his inner voice focus on movement. Stiffness was waiting hungrily at him, to stop moving and to perish, to freeze on his spot and be devoured by the floor. It was like quicksand, in a way, conquering one part of his organism after the other. In the end he would drown in stillness if he didn¡¯t keep moving. Transform movement into movement, adjust direction. All this was all fine, all sound advice. Clutching the little sink with two hands this time, he wriggled his feet through the pain and brought them up, ¡°aiille fuuuck¡± pushed on his soles, ¡°sonofab¡ª¡± unable to utter a finalized cuss word as the only breathing that was presently allowed to him was a very shallow one. Miraculously, the pushing and tugging proved efficient and, claiming a little bit of altitude, he felt ready to raise himself upwards, ¡°Jesus Jesus Chr¡ª¡± or pass out, that was also a possibility. His vision blurred and was soon invaded by some very dark butterflies with some very thick wings. He drew a deep breath and tried to recenter. He bent his elbows and reached the sink, on top of which he crumbled again. Hopefully this thing was strongly drilled into the wall. After what felt like another reckless eternity granted to the passing of time, Barry lifted his head first, secured his forearms as well as he could on the edges of the sink and launched the top part of his body up. He banged his forehead against the mirror surmounting the sink but, correcting his aim, finally caught sight of his reflection. ¡°Oh lord¡± he gasped, ¡°holy shit¡± His face was glistening in blood, his skin the color of death under the layer of red and Bordeaux, paleness that was accentuated by the dark hue of the hood he had brought down on his skull. Under his mad eyes, some thick grey circles were digging themselves as if his eyes were making a hole around themselves to disappear into. He looked like a creature from the swamps. ¡°Come on work, work¡± he encouraged the tap, ¡°give me some water, some nice water¡± and it did. It worked very smoothly and with a blessed soft flow. The fresh water he splashed on his face was quite a nice feeling so Barry permitted himself a few minutes of suspension, shook his head under the drip, wiping the filth off his skin the best way he could. In a grunt, he lifted himself to the mirror again, saw a small improvement in his appearance, but he couldn¡¯t linger too much there, as his current position was simply too excruciating, the edge of the sink biting into his stomach. He pushed himself away from it and used the wall to hold himself up, aimed tediously at one of the sweater¡¯s sleeves with a trembling hand. One hand, the other, now, the other one. Put your hand inside the sleeve Barry. Before zipping up, he darted an eye down at himself again, found that the makeshift roll he had tied around his abdomen wasn¡¯t yet soggy with new blood. It was possible that the tide was finally turning after all, just a little bit, but he had to keep his concentration up and the butterflies with their dark wings at bay. Each one of his thundering heart beats was sending waves of fire through his entire body, and he knew he had to face a very new but real threat of just fainting. How many bolts could he still have in store before consciousness would become a confiscated thing? Maybe two, maybe three. It seemed inconceivable that he would put one foot in front of the other and be able to walk to the destination that he had in mind, however, with the energy of a new bolt bubble, he could realistically hope for a reasonable stroll. If only he managed to do away with the agony that was munching at his stomach, tearing through his legs, curling around his shoulders. That, he saw, wouldn¡¯t be the bolt, rather, it would be what George called mind over matter. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (4) Friday An old lady entered the bus and looked to her right, spotted the hooded figure slumped at the back of it and decided against it, moved closer to the middle of the vehicle. Barry couldn¡¯t blame her, as he wouldn¡¯t have wanted to sit near himself either. He looked like one of those people occupying three seats at the end of public transportation who triggered other passengers to dial the ¡®See Something Suspicious?¡¯ number on the window stickers. Doing all he could to not slouch further down, he held himself sat up with the pole next to the seat, his other hand pushing against his stomach, where things were relatively dry. At least, drier than he would have thought. The sitting position, in a ninety-degree angle forced by the shape of the back row, was absolutely unbearable, but the cobblestones of the road were really adding some challenge. ¡°Motherffff¡± he cussed through his teeth, clinging to the pole like it was sticking out in the middle of a tornado. It was early evening and not so light outside anymore and, thankfully, some very dark clouds had gathered in the sky, dimming all the surroundings of the road through which Barry was travelling towards downtown Indianapolis. The darkness was his friend, he saw, keeping some corners of the bus in a blessed obscurity.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Focus, focus. It was really arduous to figure out a specific plan in his current state, the pain monopolizing all his attention. Bolting from the bar¡¯s bathroom to the bus stop to remain incognito had restored a freshness and alertness in Barry¡¯s brain, which was welcome, but he couldn¡¯t think straight in the absence of relief from his body. He knew one thing, and that was that he didn¡¯t have a lot of wiggle room in his plan. It was a desperate plan that relied on a lot of luck and a lot of gambling on one person, and that person was Ms Eugenie White, his former Geography teacher. Barry allowed himself a few seconds of reminiscing. Because, why not? There were still at least fifteen more minutes of bus trip to survive, and any distraction was welcome. The big vehicle hit another pothole and the commotion bumped through the seats with all the passengers, bending the accordion in the middle of the two bus wagons like a crazy caterpillar, ¡°fuuck aiille ohmygod¡± It had been some five to six years since he had been in Ms White¡¯s classroom, an eternity. He thought it possible that she had completely forgotten about him, which he saw could be an advantage, as she had not so much enjoyed the endless pushing of her buttons he had inflicted to her between freshman and junior year. It had been all in good spirit and nothing extravagant, but would she see it this way? Barry knew a lot of things about Eugenie White, which she wouldn¡¯t have spontaneously volunteered to the crowd of her students, and one of these things was that she had been a nurse in a distant past. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (5) Friday In the storm that picked his dirty corner of the urban world to stop by and drop a shitload of water on him, there was a blessing carried. The time and the place were impeccable, the weather was punctual. If not for all that crashing and bursting in the sky, if not for the icy wind which was cutting down the boulevard, there would have been more people outside. Barry easily resembled the usual wanderers of the neighborhood, the hunched drug addicts getting lost around the corner he was trying to conquer, but normal people still stared or, if bored, reported things to the police. If not for the tumult dropping from the fluffy black clouds, someone could have heard the cussing and swearing he was delivering inside the hood of his sweater. But most of all, he saw, if it was not for the ocean of water poured on the street, coursing down in the direction opposite to his, there would have been blood, blood steps, blood smears following him like a shadow, bloody hand prints on the bricks of the wall he was clinging to. Instead of leaving a trace, Barry was swimming, up a current of despair, towards hope. It was a good omen, if such thing still existed in his circumstances. Swimming, the word made him smile, although his face didn¡¯t welcome the expression since the muscles around his mouth and nose and eyes and everywhere were aching and brushing with fire. He smiled inside. He felt clean, strangely. He was not swimming, he was not entirely walking either, no, at this point, he couldn¡¯t walk. The tiny ball of metal that had dug through his stomach had traveled slightly on the left side and was weighing heavier on his left leg, making it impossible to land a full sole on the ground. He was dragging and wobbling, but he was making progress. Without a doubt, the peak of frustration for a person like himself, the Bolt, who was accustomed to high speeds in his existence, to have to advance at such a snail¡¯s pace, but he had to be patient. First, the bus, he sighed, and now, this pedestrian situation. I would be more patient if there wasn¡¯t blood in my shoe, he thought back to the voice, subjugated at how negative and victim-shaming his inner dialogue was while he believed that he deserved, if not respect, at least mercy. If you haven¡¯t noticed, a jolt of pain darted up from his belly, imprisoned his flank in some burning teeth, so he paused for a couple of seconds, leaning forward with one hand on his knee. No fuck, not on that knee, that knee was shaky as hell. He closed his eyes, let the electricity from the sky hover and mix with his own, basked into several consecutive rolls of thunder. There is blood in my shoe. Barry Masquevert, walk, for the love of God. There were only twenty more meters left before reaching his destination, ¡°walk, walk¡± He used a pipe sticking out of the wall to lift himself back to ninety percent of a bipedal position, pushed himself forward with an old rusty mailbox. So. SLOW. One foot. The other foot. The pain at the center of his body was so complete that it climbed up and rolled itself around his neck like a scarf, caressing the back of his skull. It scooped him low, vibrating through his lower abdomen, threatening him to pee his pants, THAT is a big no-no, Masquevert, you hear me? Get your shit together RIGHT NOW He managed to get himself back into the walk without such catastrophe and, patiently, he won the distance to the door he had been so desperate to reach. Finally. He had visited that very spot many times before, kind of aimlessly, which in itself constituted a change: he couldn¡¯t say that he was aimless anymore. For sure, his aim had grown with the urgency that was presently his. He found the name on the list of inhabitants of the building, experienced a moment of hesitation in front of the bell. No, you fucking idiot, you¡¯re not going to ring the bell. Barry waited for one more pang of fire to have completed its lap inside his entrails to open his eyes and look up. Ms White lived on the first floor, which was why she had had some rolled down shutters installed in some sleek boxes on top of her windows with the French doors. But she rarely used them, he knew, because she had a cat and she let him watch the street at night when she was sleeping. Only once had he known her to roll down the thin metal curtain, and it had been the big looting weekend of 2020, when people went crazy for toilet paper and found the shops empty, bought some guns instead. He had watched intensely back then, making sure no one would break into her flat. He didn¡¯t trust those metal shutters.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. As he lifted his eyes up, a lot of water from the sky filled them and menaced to drown him on the spot, but he saw it. The iron fence around the little balcony, it was only two meters above him. Barry knew he had to act fast, before the storm passed, so he shut his eyes and summoned all the focus he could, listen you little shit, you will only have one go, he kept on calling himself some bird names and pep-talking with himself in the most aggressive manner but, focusing indeed, he was successful in summoning a few wires of blue light. The meteorological conditions were optimal for this kind of vertical bolting, meeting between clouds and concrete crust, creating invisible buzzing steps in the air, so Barry took that and, to the people around the scene, he disappeared from sight. Launched by the electricity, he saw the wall become his new ground, sensed his knees regain flexibility, bend, and his arms thrown forward slid through the air, both his hands locking on the balcony railing. The anguish that had been wringing out his stomach was relegated to the back, some bottom of consciousness and some dulled down corner of his awareness, and Barry soaked up the relish, closed his eyes, breathed in some wet and cold air, no relishing, no blissing, no relief, the voice said, WHAT? The pampering force of the bolt suddenly dried out without warning, leaving him prey to the gravity under him. He felt himself fall downward again, horrified, tightened his hands on the rail. His own weight pulled hard and the middle of his body burst in pain from the jerk, one of his hands let go of its grip, ¡°NO!¡± he yelled, horrified, ¡°no please!¡± With monumental effort, he flung his hand up again and felt it close on the iron bar, but that was not going to hold long, especially not with all that water making everything slippery. Barry followed the swinging of his current motion, hanging on the side of the balcony, and threw his right leg up too, then the left one, gasping through the agony. He was able to glue himself against the railing. He expelled some burning air from his lungs, hugged the balustrade desperately in a mix of grunts and sobs and then he tumbled over it. At last, he crashed flat in the center of the balcony, one foot inside a plant pot, the other dangling down. As much as he desired immensely to take a break, Barry knew he couldn¡¯t lie there defeated under the water and between the urban garden Ms White had quite poorly recreated on her balcony. The storm had again dissimulated his very raucous invasion but the weather wasn¡¯t going to stay this benevolent forever. ¡°Move, move¡± he said to himself in a raspy breath, rolled heavily on his right side, spent another minute un-tucking his left arm from under his body and then he pulled himself up next to the tall window, pasted against the wall to remain as unseen as possible. He straightened his knees, gained altitude, one hand gripping his stomach in misery. There was a bulky and burning piece of concrete stuck diagonally in the middle of his gut. Like the times the metaphorical dumb kid was touching the hot stove and reflex-removed his hand right away in a warning tale, only the stove was inside his abdomen and he couldn¡¯t remove anything. Enough with the pessimism, get your game on. It was now. He was at the right height, at the right angle, just behind the glass. Out of breath, he leaned and introduced his nose into the frame of the window, his heart exploding in his chest. What would he see? He knew the details of the apartment but the first thing he noticed was that Ms White must have gotten rid of the ugly peacock fresco she had chosen to display before just above her couch in the living room, and had replaced it with an ornament of cozy lights, some warm colors. She was sitting underneath, typing something on her laptop with a glass of wine on the side. He noticed her old cat napping next to her, the shape of his body similar to a bread loaf; he knew the animal was completely deaf, which would probably be nice for what was to come. Barry didn¡¯t have a choice anymore. First of all because he had come all this way and he didn¡¯t have any other agenda, any other solution to his ordeal, not one teammate left on Earth, but more and more because he felt on the verge of passing out. Running out of time, he observed sadly. The pain was gnawing at him, the edges of his eyes obscured by the dark butterflies. For certain, he would not be able to change his mind and climb down this balcony in any other way than falling, so it was out of the question. The bolting power had deserted his organism and he was empty. No more magic. He tried to relax his shoulders, extended a shaky arm towards the glass of the window, hid his bloody fingers inside the sleeve and simply knocked. Two little but forceful knocks. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (6) Friday rewind Eugenie White had woken up on Friday morning having the feeling the day would be extraordinarily shitty, and she had been right. Everything that could go wrong at work went terribly wrong. The photocopy machine was out of order, and she cursed herself for having been lazy the day before and left school without preparing her handouts for the first hour, had to improvise a skit activity which left one of her students breathing into a bag from stage fright, and that was only period 1. By midday, she arrived late at her cafeteria duty and realized a student had stabbed another one in the ear with a spoon, creating very superfluous damage but still, she was immediately called to the Principal¡¯s office after lunchtime to debrief and be assigned a blame. Thus missing fifteen minutes of her seventh hour, she had to walk around the whole school to gather half of the students of that period who, thinking she was absent that day, had absolutely not defaulted to the study hall where they were supposed to go during a free hour but decided to explore the most forbidden areas of the building, including the fire staircase, the teachers¡¯ restrooms, the janitor¡¯s office where they had searched for chemicals that could be used as drugs and made a mess. She wasn¡¯t even mad when they got back to the classroom, just hoping that the rest of the unlocated pupils was not setting fire on the school or stabbing each other with some other spoons. ¡°Your class sucks¡± said a girl who was so disappointed she had to go through the six minutes left of Geography class that she couldn¡¯t hold the protest in, ¡°I wish you were absent, Ms White¡± ¡°You¡¯re detained¡± ¡°For what?¡± the girl asked, impertinently. ¡°For being a very unpleasant individual at the moment. Tomorrow morning, you¡¯ll come sweep the floor¡± ¡°Actually, no, my dad got a job in Turkey and we¡¯re leaving, leaving that stupid school, that stupid town, that stupid Geography class¡± Eugenie had been about to tell her who the boss was and thinking hard about it, but she took a bit too long to search for the right comeback, and that was the bell. The girl ¨CMonique¡ª slammed the door behind her, and the group left Eugenie dazed, not understanding quite right why the world was so cruel on a Friday. It was her free period then, so she decided to chill, regain composure, and sat at her desk. Why not? She started the kettle, picked out a ginger and apple tea bag from the little pocket of her purse. As the temperature rose high into the boiler and started whistling, Monique erupted back into her classroom, sobbing, her makeup creating streaks of blue and green on her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I said your class sucks, Ms White!¡± ¡°Monique, are you okay?¡± Eugenie eyed the tea bag in her cup, did this thing that teachers learn to do very early in their careers, which was performing an action of personal importance while feigning attention to a needy member of their class, usually punctuated by some wows, humhums, and some thatscrazys. She poured the hot water inside the cup at the speed of light. ¡°Nooooo, I am NOT OKAY¡± Monique broke down, theatrically dropped her bags and her coat on the floor and reached the area behind the desk to hug Eugenie, drooling and spilling snot and sticky melted black eyeliner on Eugenie¡¯s shoulder, ¡°I¡¯m not okay! I don¡¯t want to go to Turkey! I want to die! My parents are evil!¡± So Eugenie spent her only break of the day comforting Monique, promising all the heavens that they would keep in touch, with the class, even starting a pen-pal project between Indiana and Turkey, ¡°really, you will do this?¡± Absolutely not, there is no time for that shit, Eugenie thought, ¡°of course sweetie! We don¡¯t want you to feel like anyone is going to forget about you!¡± Everyone is going to forget about you in about a week. At the end of the period, the bell rang, thankfully, and Monique left feeling a lot better, and she was almost at the threshold of the door when she turned around and asked : ¡°actually, can you please write me a note? I kinda sorta skipped a class to come to you¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°What class?¡± ¡°Mr O¡¯Donovan¡¯s¡± That¡¯s just great. Donal was that stupid English 1 teacher across the hall, and they already had a tense relationship because he was that snob idiot nightmare colleague that no one wanted in life, but now, he would see the note, that bogus excuse Monique and I had an important meeting, and bring it to the Principal with ¡®great concern¡¯, she could already imagine it, hear it, ¡®now the Geography teacher thinks she can organize meetings during other people¡¯s lessons¡¯ At the end of her last class, her eyes fell on the teacup she had fought so hard to put together earlier and been monopolized from consuming. She sniffed it : cold and the bag had marinated too long. She discarded it in the sink. She started her car with the very serious agenda to leave school and began driving when suddenly, all hell burst loose. The noise from her vehicle told her she was activating a dying machine, screaming laments from the inside and screeching against the concrete underneath. She stopped, what the fuck NOW? and realized she had a flat tyre. She waited an entire other hour waiting for help and a new wheel, waving goodbye to everyone who was happily driving off to their weekend. She hated every single one of them. Donal was the last one to exit, not even saying goodbye, not even granting her a look. Good, motherfucker, she thought, I hate you the most, now, bring my note to the Principal, like¡­ She stopped herself from having an internal scene where she would win an imagined argument against him, against the world, and then, at the very end of the day, she finally parked her car in her spot at the garage two blocks from her building, a fourth and brand-new tyre and all good, stepped out into the street and was greeted by one of those free-huggers. A storm was brewing in the sky, she saw, maybe that was the reason why everything had been so crazy, and the air was hot, damp for the Fall season, and the free hugging man had huge sweat stains under his arms, spreading them toward her, ¡°free hug? Come on¡± he said, ¡°you look like you need one¡± ¡°Do. Not. Touch. Me, sir¡± she hissed at him, keeping him away with her index finger pointed upwards, fury in her eyes. ¡°Stay. Away. From. Me¡± ¡°Wow¡± he backed up in rendition, increasing the volume of his voice, ¡°you are everything that¡¯s wrong in the world, madam¡± ¡°No, you are!¡± she groaned back at him, and, as she did, as he stepped away with actor level sorrow on his face and Eugenie felt the crowd around her, a small disposition of passers-by, slow down their strolls and pause to stare at her with great disapproval, one lady pushing a baby cart sniffing loudly, unimpressed, and a couple next to her, ¡°he just wanted to give you a hug, for the love of God¡± She hoped they would step into some poo on the next block, or bite into a rotten cookie. Her card was declined at the night shop next to her building, where she aimed at buying a bottle of wine, cigarettes and some peanuts, so she had to walk two more blocks down the street to find an ATM, her card working just fine then, and make her purchase in cash. ¡°Is it only plan for you night of the Friday?¡± the shop owner asked her, a very old but very handsome, graceful man pretending not to speak perfect English to trick customers into paying cash. ¡°Sir, if you don¡¯t mind keeping your nose out of my business¡± ¡°Actually¡± he said, adding a free sample of Menthos ¨Cthe first kind thing that had happened all day!¡ª to her supplies, ¡°you look like you need it¡± She needed a shower too. That was the first thing she did when she got home, finding out that again, the hot water had run out. As she stumbled out of the bathroom, clean but shivering, her cat yelled at her multiple times, demanding the attention she had not been able to provide him as she had entered their home earlier, glancing at her with reproach, and vomited inside one of her slippers. The moment came when she felt it was over, eventually. Still wrapped in her shower towel, she ate a bowl of hot, spicy noodles with some chicken nuggets, listening to a nice comedy podcast, smoked a cigarette and made up with her cat after she cleaned his vomit and threw both her slippers into the trash ¨Cshe had no energy to even bring them into the laundry bag¡ª, poured herself a nice glass of wine. She had forgotten the little bag of peanuts, but she was no longer hungry, no longer upset at the universe. Friday nights had that power, the perspective of sleeping in the next day, the idea of two full days of leisure, it healed the wrongs of the world. She opened her laptop and browsed through what had been released on Netflix during the past week, hoping for something with murder and a woman detective coming back to her hometown to solve it, falling in love with her first high school crush against her will. The divine algorithm which had been built from her daily online habits gave her just that, so she started the first episode and then, she heard the sound of a light rain falling against her window. A storm was coming, she smiled. What could be more perfect at the moment, when she needed the coziness and the shelter so much? With a sigh of content, she poured herself a second glass of wine and paused the introduction, lit the new mango candle that her aunt had shipped to her from California with a postcard that simple read ¡®Wish you were hear¡¯, which had made her laugh tenderly. It smelled very good in the house. And then Barry happened. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (7) Friday Terence was a prescient cat. He was deaf in one of his ears, from which protruded elegant curved strings of hair, and he was blind in one eye, adding to his roughened lion appearance but he was, as a matter of fact, an omnipresent creature of the universe. Once he completed his early evening grooming and fed only from the freshest pellets inside his bowl, drank gracefully with the pointy tip of his tongue, he threw his tail up high and walked to the couch near one of the two living room windows. Adjusting three or four times to find the perfect spot, he eventually rolled himself into a bun between two huge pillows, deeming the vantage ideal for what was to come. For everything that was to come. He was glad that it was coming. Not that he cared that much about anything as a cat, and yet he couldn¡¯t disagree with the fact that Eugenie White, who liked to called herself Mom but was really his assigned lifelong servant, was lagging. The main criticism Terence had to express towards Eugenie was that she was a lady one year short of forty years old and that she was living the existence of a grandmother. She had become such a recluse, not that she was unpleasant to other humans, no, far from that, but she had declined so many social plans in the last four years that she was providing no entertainment to the house whatsoever anymore. No one called with gossip, no one came over anymore. And Terence liked drama. He enjoyed scratching his claws along the cork patches Eugenie had rolled around the legs of the dining room table, he wasn¡¯t against chasing a bouncy ball or even the evil red laser and knocking over some potted plants occasionally, and he could really lose himself watching the street below their apartment on the second floor any time of the day, especially when the birds gathered on the balcony, but he missed when she had people over, especially men. Then, drama was guaranteed, five stars. He had particularly been fond of the last man who had shared Eugenie¡¯s life for a short period of five months, and the thought made him close his eyes and relish a little bit. Fighting, crying, lots of passive aggressiveness and sarcasm, all the things he cherished. Now, she had pretty much turned into a nun, but that was about to change. On this Friday night, he knew she was exhausted after a long week teaching those insufferable teenagers at her job, and he was concerned she was not at all in the best shape to accept the explosive episode coming into her days, but he had to trust that everything was happening for a reason. Terence was a big-time believer in dharma, I mean, how could you not be, when you were a house cat that ate for free and never felt too cold or too hot, and received the services of a human every moment they were home? He trusted, warmly. When it came to crisis, there was little comparable to what was announcing itself as the storm clouds had formed above the city center and the first drops of rain had begun to fall cozily against the glass of the two high door openings of the living room. Soon, the thunder came, quaking inside the old walls of their building, and the little drops of rain transformed into a curtain of violent pouring, deafening, accompanied by strident gushes of wind blowing the autumn leaves horizontally along the boulevard, whistling like an alarm. Good, Terence thought, satisfied by the exposition scene, while Eugenie sat next to him and scratched his chin lovingly, whispered some intelligible nonsense into his non-functioning ear and placed a plate of chicken nuggets and a glass of white wine on the coffee table next to the couch. All that cacophony outside, the unhinged elements of the storm, would drown the commotion to come. He thought about the boy. Well, he wasn¡¯t as much of a boy as when he and Terence had first met, some five years before, but he felt like a boy to Terence in comparison with Eugenie, who was a lady of mature age with the habits of a senior. What a strange human, the cat had observed. He didn¡¯t buzz the door or walked like other humans. Instead, he bounced around and ignored gravity, and he had showed up so many times on the balcony, which was a very strange conduct that Terence had never seen another person adopt without a ladder and a heavy firefighting gear, but that had been greatly entertaining.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. He had indulged the boy, back then, resisted the urge to play hard to get, and hung out some hours at the window with the boy. His name was Barry, Terence knew. Sometimes, he came wearing some usual human clothes but, some other days, he had visited in some sort of Halloween costume, the top half of his face covered by a mask that had huge ant¡¯s eyes. It was confusing but, again, entertaining, and Terence had learned to look forward to the boy¡¯s next visits. It would have been ideal that he had brought some treats with him but, seeing that he only showed up when Eugenie was absent, he had not dared coming inside the flat and therefore, had not needed any offerings to appease the real master of the house, always coming empty-handed but always with a smile, some gentle knocks on the window, always playing with his hands and some very cool blue iridescent lightening strikes that he could, for some mysterious reason, produce out of his fingertips. And now the boy was coming, Barry was coming. Not just with the blue, this time, but with some red. Some deep flashy red. He was bringing all the colors. Terence watched the rain pour and the wind tear the avenue with some empty trash bins and whirls of papers, he watched the Fall season trees get stripped off their leaves into the perspective of winter by the violence, and he felt the excitement fill up his heart. Fortunate, he thought, that the weather was so savage, especially the water part. It would make Barry¡¯s journey to Eugenie White pretty much unnoticed, mixing into the fresh sky water the dark smears or hand prints he would have left on the d¨¦cor as he slowly wobbled and limped, letting dissolve the puddles that would have formed under his body when he paused to catch his breath against a trash bin. ¡°Who wants a chicken nugget?¡± Eugenie asked Terence as she took a bite while nicely sliding the laptop on the coffee table and starting to browse for a nice Friday night watch. She chewed on her nugget and her eyes hungrily scanned the screen, and Terence knew she was searching for something, anything, that involved a lady detective coming back to her hometown to solve a murder that would stir up some old secrets and bring her together with a forgotten lover from her youth. The algorithm would give her just that, but Terence would have had a hard time hiding his amusement if he had not been a cat. Those nuggets would go cold, and the show would never be watched, not a minute of it. She would not even get the chance to sip on her wine. He felt slightly bad for her; she had put on her favorite sweatpants after a long rejuvenating shower, the trousers that were so soft with the fleece inside, a wrinkled tee shirt and her weekend jumper, and she was so ready for a well-deserved moment of unwinding. But no, he saw, all this was for the best. Eugenie needed a reset. He couldn¡¯t be sure how things would unfold, though, and this troubled him a little bit. How would she react to what was about to pulverize her daily life? The anticipation for delightful drama took over and Terence sank his little head deeper in the middle of his shoulder, resting his chin on his chest. Delightful, truly. Detached from Eugenie¡¯s enthusiasm being absorbed by the task of queuing her episodes, he waited, looking at the window through the slits of his half closed eyed. One minute later, Barry emerged on the balcony, seemingly out of nowhere. Even for Terence, who knew anything and everything and the past and the future, and how all things would end, his appearance made a certain effect. Struggling to get back on his feet after crashing between the potted plants of the terrace ¨Cfracas that had been muffled by the storm, playing the scene in an old silent movie¡ª, Barry pulled himself up against the window and leaned forward. He was coiffed with an oversize hood, his hands rolled inside the long sleeves to dissimulate the blood on his fingers, and he looked literally flattened by the rain. Hunched forward, one hand holding his stomach, and the other resting on the two layered glass. He looked like a dark dark shadow. If he was so impressive to Terence the Cat, then, how terrifying would he be to Eugenie White? The last seconds of a peaceful but hermit-like existence were dispersing in Eugenie¡¯s timeline. Two, one. Zero. Barry knocked forcefully on the window. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (8) Friday He had to give it to her, seeing how much true crime she absorbed daily as podcasts or television, and having lived as a woman alone since her divorce, it was granted that Eugenie White would simply freak the fuck out. Anyone, Terence saw, would lose their shit as their sense of home shelter and security became breached on an ordinary Friday night from a spot that seemed impregnable. The two windows of the living room, as did the one in the bedroom at the back of the apartment, possessed some rolled-down metallic shutters, but Eugenie never thought of using them, as it was quite unlikely that anyone would be able to threaten her home through a place other than her front door. Therefore, the result of the knock was immediate and unsurprising. Eugenie¡¯s glass of wine, which she had been holding up in her hand, went flying on the side and crashed against the wall under the clock, shattering in a million pieces. Terence knew he¡¯d have to be careful with the debris that would soon populate this place, as this was only the beginning and he had some very delicate paw cushions to preserve. Everything became fast paced, so he opened his eyes wide and tucked his tail under his front paws, like one sits in a movie theater with a bucket of popcorn ready for a great time. Eugenie lifted her head at the window in pure terror and, for a brief instant, she wondered. She wondered what it was, but this brief instant was short lived, as the black hooded shadow present on her balcony was undeniably there. Terence watched Barry take the measure of the fright he had just inflicted to her and quickly pull down the hood from his sweater to show his face, with on it the na?ve hope that its familiarity would smooth things out. Sadly, Eugenie was too busy to see it, busy shrieking and literally rolling backwards in an inverted somersault from her couch so as to put a barrier between her and the sudden menace. Terence watched her hand stick out from her hiding spot and grab the cell phone she had left on the dining room table earlier. Barry knocked again and mouthed the words ¡°Ms White?¡± His face was drenched, white as the face of a ghost, glistening from the rain and he looked like he had been squashed by a giant¡¯s shoe. He and Terence made quick eye contact and the cat softly lowered his lids, expressing a gratitude that Barry couldn¡¯t have comprehended. You¡¯ll be alright, Terence sent him a thought, in the end. I mean i think. Barry knocked again and Eugenie peaked from behind the L angle of the sofa, then she launched herself towards the coffee table to seize the small knife that she had used on her first half of a chicken nugget and she was on her way back to retreating when she froze. At last, she saw Barry¡¯s face. She slumped on the arm of the couch with eyes eating her entire face, electrified by the sight. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you!¡± Barry explained from behind the window but, through the hubbub of the rain and hurls of the wind, it was impossible to hear. Terence was just very gifted at reading lips, it had always been a talent of his, especially in the English language, opposed to the Swedish gibberish that Eugenie was producing on her phone with her aunt and uncle. He hated Scandinavian tongues, goofy and cutting unpredictably in the middle of dialogue. Eyes back on Eugenie, he watched her get up from behind the couch armed with her knife and cell phone and this time, an expression of shock that had rarely seen a precedent on her face. She inhaled sharply as if she was going to shout but held her breath halfway there and then gurgled: ¡°Barry?¡± Terence would have bet for a high pitch but this, this was low, a growl, a visceral sound. It was, after all, the last word she would utter from her current dimension, about to shift into another. Her old life was over. ¡°Ba-RRY?¡± It was also the first word o the rest of her life. Although still drowning in the rain shower, water cascading from his forehead, shoulders, chin, the boy smiled at her timidly, nodding encouragingly, half smiled, half grimaced in anguish. Terence could tell he was struggling to hold himself straight and that his strength was diminishing. But something clicked in Eugenie at this very second and she was jolted up very straight and tightly as if anger and repulsion were batteries an invisible puppet-master hand had introduced inside her back. She became absolutely unhinged. Fury conquered her eyes and reshaped her face into a twisted mask and she brandished the knife towards her unwanted guest, she started roaring, ¡°NO, NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY, THIS IS NOT OKAY WHAT THE FUCK¡± and she took two steps in the direction of Barry, agitated the little phone in the air, ¡°I AM GOING TO CALL THE POLICE YOU HEAR ME BARRY THIS IS NOT OKAY THIS IS NOT OKAY¡± Barry comprehended the presence of the phone and what was at stake and it became his turn to panic right away, jolted upwards, and he raised his sleeved hand in rendition, the other one still pushed against his stomach, ¡°no no no please¡± he shook his head in pleading ¡°I¡¯m sorry Ms White I can explain I can expl¡ª¡± ¡°EXPLAIN WHY YOU ARE ON MY BALCONY YOU MOTHERFUCKER THIS IS NOT OKAY¡± Eugenie¡¯s rage at the current event occurring in her life and specifically the main actor of it, a former student of Geography that she had been happy to see vanish from her days, had disintegrated her fear and apprehension at once and she ran to the window, shoved the phone in her pants¡¯ pocket, drop the knife, drop the knife, Terence thought, which she did. She landed her hand on the knob and shouted, ¡°YOU ARE RECORDING ME RIGHT NOW THIS IS ONE OF YOUR STUPID PRANKS OH MY GOD THIS IS NOT OKAY WHAT THE FUCK¡± ¡°No no nononono not a prank not a prank¡± Terence saw that perhaps, the boy had come ill prepared, to say the least, and had not anticipated the ample protest he was receiving from Eugenie, as he seemed to ponder things and attempt to adjust. Perhaps, as well, he was not aware of how little she desired to cross paths with him again, out of the entire crowd of her students present and past, and how not she wished to see him appear at her place of residence. Some misunderstandings and gaps in background information were to be expected.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°THIS IS NOT OKAY YOU HEAR ME THIS IS THE LAST DROP BARRY THIS IS NOT¡ª¡± Eugenie opened the window with such an aggressive motion that Barry was caught by surprise and, in his predicament, lost his footing; unable to fight anything that was happening, he dropped in a tumble against Eugenie, who continued yelling, ¡°HELP HELP HELPPPPP¡± but the storm was still booming, one lightning bolt after the other followed by great explosions between the dark clouds, and the drums of the rain against everything that was in its path cancelled all the other noises. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m sorry¡± Barry¡¯s fall pinned Eugenie under him. Terence was loving this. There was already more action happening right now in those few first minutes than in the whole previous year. ¡°GET OFF ME GET OFF ME GET THE FUCK OF MEE¡± she flapped her arms and legs and managed to un-tuck herself from him, rolled on top of him and slapped him in the chest. Yikes, Terence thought. ¡°YOU YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU LITTLE SHIT¡± and Barry choked on his breath and fell on one elbow, showing her the palm of his hand in another gesture of peace. The red color of the blood on the hand caught Eugenie¡¯s eye, shining on his fingers, ¡°WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT BLOOD IS THAT¡ª¡± then she registered the presence of the same colour on her own jumper and recoiled violently, a gazelle realizing she leaped into the path of a lion, until she hit the half of the window that was still shut in her back, ¡°WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT BLOOD IS THAT KETCHUP IS THAT¡ª¡± ¡°Ms White!¡± Barry spoke to her, trying to catch a breath, desperate to sneak in some normal dialogue, ¡°it¡¯s real blood it¡¯s my blood I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m hurt I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t know where to¡ª¡± ¡°WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT BARRY MASQUEVERT WHAT THE¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± he whimpered, lost altitude on his shaky elbow, ¡°Ms White I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t want to freak you out I¡¯m¡­ I have been shot by a gun and I¡¯m really hurt I don¡¯t have anywhere else to go¡± Eugenie was breathless and exhausted by her own screaming. She squinted at him and lowered her tone, baffled and pissed off, ¡°what the fuck are you talking about Barry by a gun that¡¯s impossible that¡¯s imposs¡ª BARRY OPEN YOUR EYES¡± She saw his face go blank and his arm dissolve under his weight and, just before his head hit the floor, she slid back to him, grabbed him by the arms and, quite brutally, sat him up against the armchair behind him, ¡°BARRY WAKE UP WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON DRUGS ARE YOU¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a prank I promise Ms White¡± he squealed in pain, his eyelids batting like the wings of a butterfly, ¡°I was shot like a rabbit and I fell from a building and then I was hit by a car and¡ª¡± ¡°Swheeti-hie¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to pass out¡± ¡°What NO BARRY OPEN YOUR EYES OPEN YOUR EYES TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING¡± ¡°I have been shot I¡¯m sorry that I came to your balcony I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡± ¡°What are you saying Barry¡± she wailed more, still holding him up as far as possible from her, ¡°BARRY TELL ME THE TRUTH¡± ¡°I tried to help someone and they shot me¡± Eugenie finally looked down at his huge and baggy sweater of a dark brown color and Terence heard a faint gasp escape her lips. She and Barry locked eyes in a much-appreciated silent pause for three very long seconds, during which she seemed to come to the start of an understanding. She opened her mouth very wide again and took a big gulp of air, but no sound came out. She repeated the motion with more air but hesitated once more ¡°Oh my god then why¡ª¡± she closed her eyes again, achingly, ¡°why the fuck are you¡± she said, articulating the words very clearly, ¡°here and not¡ª BARRY OPEN YOUR EYES¡± He winced in agony and wriggled to free himself from her grip, unsuccessfully, as her fingers were digging into the shredded skin of his bloody left arm, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m really trying it really h¡ª¡± ¡°WHY ARE YOU HERE AND NOT IN A HOSPITAL¡± she realized she was yelling again, ¡°why the fuck did you come here IF YOU HAVE BEEN SH¡ª¡± ¡°I can¡¯t go to a hospital Ms White¡± ¡°WHY THE FUCK NOT¡± ¡°Nooo please it¡¯s too dangerous they¡¯ll be looking for me¡± ¡°Dangerous?¡± her voice broke, from horror and confusion, as in Eugenie¡¯s world, hospitals were nice places especially when it came to people wanting to be cured of their illnesses. ¡°They will find me there they¡ª¡± ¡°WHO THE FUCK ARE THEY I mean who are they¡± ¡°Some¡± Barry hesitated, ¡°Russians¡± ¡°Barry¡± ¡°Sorry sorry sorry I d d don¡¯t know why I said that. They are ¡­ robots¡± ¡°BARRY YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND¡± she let go off him with an expression of decision on her face, something grumpy that testified of her level of fedup-ness, got up on her feet and produced her little cell phone from her pocket, wiped her sweaty brow, ¡°let me call an ambulance, don¡¯t worry it will¡ª¡± ¡°Nooo¡± spread on the floor after being dropped like a bag of potatoes, Barry pushed himself up on his elbows and raised one hand towards her, ¡°no please no don¡¯t do that¡± She mirrored his motion by pointing an angry teacher index finger back at him while she swiped on her phone screen with the other hand, ¡°I HAVE HAD ENOUGH BARRY SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW AND I WILL GO WITH YOU I WILL¡ª¡± ¡°Nooo¡± 9, she dialed. ¡°Nooo please, not that, not that¡± Barry folded his knees and rolled on his side, raised himself enough to get back on his feet, legs warming up, little strands and twists of blue from the force of the bolt he was gathering, which would soon be propelling him upwards again. His eyes were glued to Eugenie and to her hand and to the cell phone, in consternation and disappointment. Then, she dialed the number 1 and prepared to repeat the push. At the peak of enjoyment, Terence watched Barry shake his head, heard in his mind¡¯s ear, ¡°oh my god not that, not that¡± The boy closed his eyes and Terence waited. He had witnessed the phenomenon before, the bolt, and it was not something he particularly disliked. Everything dissolved in the cat¡¯s universe as when one was going to sleep, the world of sounds around sucked in like they would have been absorbed underwater, and all turned blue, a cold sparkly blue, for what he knew would feel like the half of one second but which, for Barry, would open a bubble of stolen time allowing him to just, Terence thought, just¡­ act faster. That was pretty much it. The power filled up the room and reverberated into the walls, ejecting all the frames nailed on the walls in the air even as far as the entrance corridor, followed by a terrible crash that was Barry colliding into the bookshelves on the left of the couch and smashing them into pieces. Although Terence had not closed his eyes, it felt like it when the half of the bolting second passed, and time resumed its normal course. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (9) Friday From sharing the last half of his life with her every day, Terence knew that Eugenie was near her breaking point. She was not able to just spend her anger into a vacuum with no results and endlessly, especially with Barry in front of her meaning no antagonism to her at the moment, and she had been screaming and kicking for too long now. So presently, as the destruction of the inside of her home progressed, she would surely move on to begging. And begging. Probably denying. She would cry, there wasn¡¯t a doubt about that. A car alarm rang in the distance, from the street, and they all looked at the window as a reflex even in the middle of their current preoccupations. Eugenie, still facing the armchair where she had left Barry rumpled on the floor while attempting to dial emergency services. Terence, from the couch and glancing beyond the plate of chicken nuggets. And Barry, too, sitting on his butt in the middle of the wreck of the former bookshelves, his legs covered with books and various other debris from decorations that Eugenie had placed between the books. A volume of the Castles of the Loire rested half opened on his knees, as if he was ready to read it. They all turned their heads slightly and followed the blaring sound through the window which remained opened on to the balcony, realizing that the storm was slowly passing. A cozy plicploc was dropping from the potted plants to the frame and the wooden planks, and the wind was now gentle. Terence and Barry waited for Eugenie to follow the new developments of her life, both of them with a reasonable amount of patience at the ready simply because they both were quite familiar with her from their different angles. Predictably, she spent an extensive amount of time staring at the hand which had been holding her cell phone a second earlier and which was now empty and, after that was done, she feebly spun around on her trembling legs and gasped at the sight of the mountain of damages into which Barry was partially buried. She looked at her empty hand again and at his face, going back and forth. He granted her a minute, nodding tolerantly, his head resting against the wall behind him. There had been a voluminous shelf furniture instead of a bare wall before, but now, there was no more. Eugenie¡¯s cheeks were becoming very red and her eyes humid. She was frowning and sniffling. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± Barry said finally, and his words, although spoken low, startled her. ¡°JEsus¡± He got spooked too, ¡°it¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay¡± and wearily, he retrieved both his hands from under the rubble and the morsels of broken wood, pushing one resolutely against his abdomen and revealing, in the other hand, the cell phone with the screen still open and ready to dial the last digit. He let it slide dramatically from between his fingers and sink into the mess, ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± he repeated, this time more firmly. Terence prepared himself for that new act. He knew that the boy didn¡¯t have a choice now, and must regain some control. His face was dead white, caves dug under his eyes, some water dripping from his chin and on the sides of his eyebrows, his chest shakily rising up and down. The fingers of his hand clutching his stomach, sticky with blood, stirred with some newer, fresher redder blood. He was soaked from the storm and smelled like a wet dog. ¡°My phone¡± Eugenie said blankly. One tear fell from her eye, in such an ejected manner that it missed her cheek entirely. Barry closed his eyes, reopened them, then started speaking with urgency, ¡°Ms White, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡± ¡°My phone¡± Eugenie insisted ¡°I took it from your hand before you could dial the police¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to dial the police¡± ¡°An ambulance or w wwhatever you were doing. Listen I I I don¡¯t have much time, I¡¯m going to pass out soon, listen¡± he said in front of her mortified expression, ¡°I don¡¯t have time, Ms White, I cannot let you ask for out out outside help¡± He tensed under a punch of pain from the middle of his body. ¡°I took your phone from y y yyyour hand and crashed into your furniture, I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s difficult to bolt inside such a small space¡± ¡°B¡­ Bolt¡± Eugenie took one step forward in his direction.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°I¡¯m a mutant¡± ¡°Noo, no no no¡± Here we were. The begging, the refusing. Terence had been right. ¡°Listen, please¡± Barry sighed, ¡°I am a mutant from the Team of vigilantes out there, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve ever seen th¡ª¡± ¡°Hoobes Team¡± ¡°It¡¯s Hobbes¡± Terence watched Eugenie glance around at her walls, ¡°my¡­ picture frames¡± ¡°They all pretty much exploded from the walls because of the speed bubble I created, now if¡ª¡± ¡°Bolt?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m the Bolt, my power is that I can run at supersonic speed. If you¡¯re coming closer to get your phone back, Ms White¡± he continued talking, even-tempered, ¡°I¡¯m warning you that it¡¯s n nnot going to work, I will bolt again¡± Terence saw some shiny new tears accumulate into some fat beads at the corners of Eugenie¡¯s eyes. She blinked and let them fall heavily. ¡°Listen I can¡¯t¡ª¡± Barry seemed to think about his anecdote for a small instant, swallowed hard, ¡°I went to a pl place of contact earlier, and there, I found myself alone, and all those¡­ robots, they started firing at me like, twenty of them, something like that¡± ¡°Your team¡± Eugenie wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, which had the result to smear more blood on her face, ¡°where is your Team?¡± ¡°They have vanished¡± Barry explained, ¡°disappeared, I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t I don¡¯t know where they are¡± ¡°No no no¡± Eugenie shook her head then leaned in the position of a frog in front of him, hands joined in a prayer. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do about it¡± Barry went on and, with great difficulty, launched his free hand towards her in a request of appeasement, but she didn¡¯t reception it. She just stared at it, at his sticky fingers, and then back at his face, dismayed. ¡°Robots¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know those¡­ I don¡¯t know much about those robots. They are n n not Russian, they are from s sspace. They are all ass ass assholes they, shot me in the arm but¡± he smiled bravely ¡°but it¡¯s okay I don¡¯t th th think it¡¯s I don¡¯t know I¡¯m fine¡± ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake¡± Eugenie pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, sniffled loudly, ¡°in the¡­ no no no please no why w¡ª¡± Barry¡¯s own eyelids were batting very fast like the wings of a little fruit bat, ¡°they shot me in the stomach, I¡­ it¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m really scared, Ms White¡± his voice crackled and he cleared his throat, winced in pain, ¡°I c c ccan¡¯t go to a doctor or a pharmacist or even a vet. I can¡¯t go to a dentist or an optician. They will k k kkill everyone in that place to get to me, I cannot do that, you must understand¡± ¡°No no noooo¡± Eugenie was openly crying now, and she hunched forward and crouched against Barry while still shaking her head, grabbed him by the shoulders, ¡°nooo, this isn¡¯t real, this is a nightmare, this can¡¯t be real¡± She threw her desperation directly at his face, directly at the source, hoping, against all odds, that the boy would suddenly announce that it was indeed all a joke. ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot to t t take in but you¡¯re going to have to, I¡¯m so sorry, I don¡¯t have a choice, I will¡­ lose consciousness soon, listen¡± he took a deep breath in and continued, ¡°listen I don¡¯t feel good, I¡¯m feeling weird, I¡­ jumped from a building and landed in the back of a truck and then I I went into a restaurant, hid there in the bathroom, tried to find a¡­ solution, but i i if you could just¡ª¡± he shrunk on his butt but then had an amused little smile, ¡°could just stop squeezing me and scratching me with your fingernails like this please it really hurts it really h h hurts my arm¡± ¡°No no noooo¡± Eugenie squealed and flew her hands in the air as if she had touched a burning candle, finding them empty and, uncertain of what to do with them, she started juggling some invisible bowling pins, ¡°Barry this is not okay, this is not okay, I can¡¯t, I can¡¯t, I don¡¯t even underst¡ª¡± ¡°Listen please. You do understand. I know you have medical training¡± The words made her melt away ¡°what did you say¡± She shivered. ¡°I know you are a nurse, I know this, listen¡ª¡± ¡°Noo, no, NO¡± She almost landed her hands on the sides of his arms again but refrained herself. ¡°I don¡¯t have time to explain how much I know and why but I know this¡ª Stop shaking your head¡± he encouraged her by nodding his own. Terence thought, What I know that I know is small. What I know that I don¡¯t know is big. What I don¡¯t know that I don¡¯t know is infinite. ¡°I know¡± Barry swallowed what seemed to be some dry pieces of paper, ¡°that you are a nurse¡± ¡°You listen¡± she almost chuckled ¡°I am a high¡­ school¡­ teacher¡± ¡°You are also a nurse, Ms White, there is no point d d dddenying it. I figured a nurse can fix me¡± She choked this time, opening her eyes as big as a gymnast¡¯s hoops in utter shock, ¡°fix you¡± she panted ¡°I am a teacher, you know that since you were my st¡ª¡± ¡°You are also a nurse¡± ¡°I was a nurse a million years ago Barry and they kicked me out because I wasn¡¯t good enough¡± Terence watched closely. Barry and Eugenie¡¯s faces were now very near, as if the recovered calm from the street outside had led the overall cacophony and the volume of their interaction to decrease into whispers and secrets. ¡°Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth you stupid empty coconut, you fucking loo¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ cc c care¡± he said in a grimace, ¡°I I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m going to pass out now, okay? No ph ph phh¡ª¡± he closed his eyes to catch his breath and focus, then reopened them and planted them into hers, ¡°no phone okay? please, I trust you Ms White, I¡ª Stop sh sh shaking your head¡± ¡°No no nooo¡± she implored hopelessly, seized his shoulders again, ¡°don¡¯t sleep please Barry don¡¯t sleep¡± ¡°I trust you¡± ¡°I can¡¯t Barry I can¡¯t I can¡¯t¡± He kept nodding, the breath at his lips whistling like a basket of snakes, ¡°I trust you, okay?¡± Then he closed his eyes and he was out. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (10) Friday Between the damages inflicted to her apartment, the shattered bookshelves, the piles of debris, the pool of rainwater and the smears of blood on her wooden floor, her cat sitting next to her looking at her with tranquil curiosity, Eugenie spent a moment of undetermined time staring at Barry. He looked peaceful in the middle of her mount of books, his hands relaxed on his lap, his face tilted down, some silent drops of water launching themselves from the hair on top of his forehead, shaking it in the process almost imperceptibly. She knew he was not dead because she could see the frail rise and fall of his chest. She could also see that the stain of blood on his stomach was not getting smaller or drier, but again, he was so soaked that it was difficult to tell. She was aware that given the task that he had assigned to her, she was being a bit extravagant, letting the minutes go by this way without any action, but she couldn¡¯t move. She kept thinking about how she could just put an end to this terrible story, and she tried very hard. Call the police. No, the boy is not a criminal. Breaking and entering? He didn¡¯t break in, I let him in, I opened the window. Just entering, being the victim of a crime? Involved in a shooting? She shuddered at the word shooting. No no no no, she couldn¡¯t stop begging no. Think. Call an ambulance. No. Barry said he trusted me. How does this even hold any sort of importance? He said It doesn¡¯t matter what he said! He¡¯s a child! You don¡¯t fucking know him. I don¡¯t not know him. You don¡¯t owe him. I don¡¯t owe him. You don¡¯t owe him shit. But he said he trusted me. She started crying again. Who the fuck cares? Call an ambulance, what else are you going to do? I don¡¯t know. He¡¯s going to die if he doesn¡¯t go to the hospital. But he can¡¯t go there. It¡¯s dangerous. He will thank you later. No, it¡¯s dangerous. Why the fuck is it dangerous? I don¡¯t remember the story he told me about why it is dangerous. You can¡¯t fix him, come on, it¡¯s madness. Actually I ¡­ can. HOW? Maybe I can. I have skills. From nursing school? The voice thought it was hilarious. GIRL I can help him, if I remember¡­ things. HOW?? You need to find people to help you. His Team. On Google. That wasn¡¯t a bad idea. Barry had said that his mutant peers had vanished without a trace, but he could be wrong, after all. He had been busy being shot and perhaps even falling off a building, if his tale could be believed. Eugenie sniffled loudly and started getting up, eyeing her laptop still open on top of her couch. Get to the laptop, type some things on the keyboard, find some information. Barry. She couldn¡¯t leave him like this while she was just typing on a keyboard and hanging out on the internet! But, what will you do, you crazy apricot bitch? She closed her eyes. No no no no, she repeated NO inside her head for a couple more minutes and after five thousand more nos, she opened her eyes. I don¡¯t have a choice. Why not? Shut. The. Fuck. Up. She groaned powerlessly and got up. Her legs were hardly carrying her, so she held herself against the wall, took some zigzag steps towards the kitchen door. Without taking her eyes from Barry as if he was one of these Australian jumping spiders about to pounce at her while she fetched a newspaper to squash it, she paced backwards. Into the little adjacent room, where she reached for her counter top, seized a pair of matching rags with some cute little spring cherries on them, then walked back to the living room. She used the corner of one of the rags to dry her tears, breathed out, the air trembling at her lips, her jaws aching from masticating at nothing, then she turned around and opened the skinny closet tower behind her. Some tape, there, an almost expired roll, and a brand new one wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped it, admired its shine under the lamp of her ceiling. She used to say to her students, the ones whose upbringings had not apparently included learning how to whisper during tests or slide shows, ¡®imagine that there is a napping baby that you don¡¯t want to wake¡¯ OK. She really meant imagine that there is an intruder with an AK-47 in the hallway next to the classroom and the door is open, you little shits, but she would have gotten into a wall of trouble. Ok. Quietly. As if not to wake a napping baby, she approached Barry walking on the tip of her socked feet, her heart filled with sadness and dread, the fear screaming inside her ears. She crouched down on top of him and froze for another precious five minutes. He was absolutely drenched, delivering with him his own ocean of water and smelling like a wet ferret after rolling in grass. There was also the particular copper scent of blood in the mix, if you had a good sense of smell, she saw. His lips were turning a light hue of purple, some dark circles digging themselves under his shut eyes. His skin was the color of death. He was hurt but he was also marinating in a lot of very cold rainwater. There was no time for googling or looking up anything, she had to help him now, at least not to perish from blood loss and hypothermia. No no no, she felt the alarm stir inside her heart again, STOP IT, she said to herself. No more nos. Why the fuck do you care that he trusts you? He said that he trusted me. Why in the world do you care? Not a pharmacist, not a vet. He had nowhere to go. Barry Masquevert, she wasn¡¯t particularly fond of him from their previous school relationship, hell, she would be totally fine with the perspective of never seeing him again and forgetting he even existed, but he was here now. He was not a bad boy. He was even a pretty good one, if he was truly the Bolt! Do something. But what? Where to start? ¡°Are you really the Bolt?¡± she asked him softly. Her eyes went down his legs, examining the trousers she had noticed earlier and didn¡¯t take time to observe. They were indeed very unique, dark color and some unseen before patting on the sides, bright orange. She tried to remember the suit the Bolt was wearing when people filmed him in action, on the news. Something similar, she agreed. Something like that. Was he the Bolt?Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. How about the way he bolted through your bookshelves? Do something. He had nowhere to go. How many people knew his real identity? She touched the fabric of his suit, it was quite spongy, lightly bouncy, something she had never touched before. She had not paid so much attention to the stories about the specimens of the Team and what was what and who was whom and how they came to be or their sense of fashion, but she remembered her students talking about suits, during a science fair. ¡®Some of those supersuits are woven in materials similar to the ones worn by astronaut at the moment of atmosphere re-entry¡¯ She didn¡¯t know what that meant, she should have asked, she should have paid more attention. Stop wasting time, and what was she thinking? That searching for information about the Team online, she¡¯d be given a phone line? An email address? ¡®Dear Mr Hobbes¡­ Hello, my name is Eugenie White¡¯ YEAH RIGHT, you dumb bitch, you fucking d¡ª ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Barry¡± she whispered. Her heart broke in silence. He didn¡¯t have anywhere to go, no vet, no pharmacist, no dentist. He didn¡¯t care how awful of a nurse she was, ¡°well that¡¯s good cause I¡¯m a pretty shitty nurse, Barry¡±, she said. How much blood would he lose because she was still frozen in shock, how many more degrees would his body drop down to because she was donating all her time to the void, pondering things and trying to escape reality? This was her reality now. ¡®Stop shaking your head¡¯ he had said, so she stopped, and nodded hesitantly. She let the tears fall freely on her cheeks. She got up, switched on the radiators of all the apartment, then raided her bathroom boards for some old and scratchy towels, the ones that absorbed humidity the fastest and the most efficiently, added her hair drier and a pair of gigantic scissors ¨Call teachers owned one, and a teacher who¡¯d deny it would be lying¡ª to the pile, then sat back down next to Barry. ¡°I¡¯m going to unzip you, alright?¡± She advanced her hand towards the zipper of his big sweater under his chin but then he opened his eyes wide, and they both gasped, and his hand snatched hers in the blink of an eye. Then, in an entrancing vision, Eugenie saw some blue iridescent lightning bolts appear around his face, rendering his paleness ghastly, buzzing in the air with electricity, ¡°Holy cow¡± It was very beautiful and haunting, but she was too preoccupied by the turn the events were taking to continue contemplating the phenomenon. Before she could utter another word, she found herself projected against the wall behind her, her head and her butt colliding hard against the concrete, ¡°Bar¡ª¡± he closed his second hand on her throat, a wilderness in the eye, like he was seeing through her, ¡°B¡ª¡± Her feet pedaled in the emptiness under her as he lifted her against the wall. With both her hands she tried desperately to scratch off his fingers from her neck but he was immensely strong and those fingers were locked. Their eyes finally met ¡°Eugenie Wh¡ª¡± he gulped, astonished, ¡°Eugenie White!¡± One of her dancing feet kicked him in the stomach out of sheer accident, as she was not even trying to defend herself, monopolized by the task to ask herself how things in her life had become so bizarre and precarious, but Barry deflated in a hiccup and let go off her throat, collapsed to the ground while she slid pitifully against the wall like a spat of molten cheese, coughing for air and fanning herself. She landed next to him. He bent forward until his forehead touched the floor and held himself with both hands. ¡°Ms White¡± Barry whimpered, ¡°sorry what have I done¡± ¡°Barry, you¡¯re okay Barry?¡± she asked between two coughs, fighting against the instinct to kick herself as far away from him as possible. ¡°What are you doing I¡¯m so sorryy¡± he was progressively losing altitude again and merging with the floor. ¡°NO stay up, don¡¯t fall Barry, don¡¯t fall¡± Eugenie groaned, blinked away some dizziness; her butt was burning, her neck was aching, I¡¯m too old for this shit, she extended her hand, ¡°can I touch you¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to attack you I didn¡¯t rememb¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fall Barry wait¡± she breathed in deeply, she slid one hand under his arm ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you¡± He raised his head to her, distracted from his ordeal for a second, his face illuminated by some merry disbelief, ¡°you¡­ came around!¡± he cried with joy. ¡°iiiiyeah?¡± she sang, unsure, ¡°I did?¡± He dug himself back into the collar, ¡°it huurts, it hurts so m¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright¡±, she heard her voice say. I¡¯m sorry. Why are you saying this to him? ¡°Look, since you¡¯re awake, I¡¯ll carry you to the table, you can lie there, comfortably¡±It¡¯s probably going to be the opposite of comfortable but¡ª ¡°No I¡¯m not moving, aiille¡ª¡± he protested when she lifted his hand to roll it around her neck, ¡°no please, not that¡± COME ON NOW YOU SAID YOU NEEDED HELP I¡¯M HELPING YOU, ¡°just a little push, I will get us up¡± and she straightened her knees with all her strength, her butt and neck very sore. She encountered massive resistance on the side that was transporting Barry ¡°I can¡¯t actually¡± she chuckled. Why are you laughing how are you laughing ¡°You are too heavy, you have to stand up too, come on, push on your legs too¡± I¡¯m in shock, I¡¯m in sideration, it¡¯s a well-known thing triggered by highly unusual situations, ¡°just a little push¡± He did as ordered, grumbling, panting, one hand hanging on her shoulder and the other clutching his stomach, and they conquered the two steps to the dining room table, ¡°it hurts a lot, like a lot¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to hurt no matter what Barry, there is nothing I can do for you¡± ¡°Make it stopp¡± Now that was Barry Masquevert, the kid she had known as the nagger and the pesterer in her classroom for three whole years. ¡®Here is a Kahoot game¡¯ she had said and, ¡®make it a movie¡¯ he would have demanded. Eugenie saw that her life was a disaster and that the stars had aligned against her, like one would pray for on the cosmic plane, but for the worst. Don¡¯t think about that, continue with the sideration, she told herself. ¡°Lie flat on the¡­ table¡± she said, breathless. She was old and aching and out of shape. Her bones were inflamed, the stiffness radiating through her entire being. She should have done more yoga, she should have jogged more. ¡°There is a lot of shit on your ta¡ª¡± ¡°I know, just¡­ go¡± she dropped him quite violently against the table and pushed him forward, then grabbed his legs and delivered them like a package at the other side of the table. Trying to follow the motion and spread himself in a horizontal position, Barry flapped his arms and knocked down her lamp, another plant in a small pot that had been decorated by her nephew, oh shit, not that, a pencil box and a fucking glass bottle of water, which oscillated in an elegant curb before falling with the rest of the items and smashing on the ground. More noise, more cacophony. ¡°Your neigh¡­ neighbors¡± ¡°Barry, lie flat¡± ¡°You should pp p play some music, to drown out the¡ª¡± ¡°You are talking too much¡± she pressed gently on his shoulders, ¡°I cannot multitask like you do, I have an old brain. By the way, how are you still so strong?¡± ¡°My power it¡­¡± he closed his eyes, bit his lips, ¡°makes my body recharge quickly, especially when I sleep¡± ¡°Let me just get my cat out of the way¡± she caught the fluffy animal and ran to her bedroom, where she stopped and, caught aback again, glitched in front of the sight of her bed. Something tugged atrociously at her heart, the vague memory that she had looked forward to sleeping on it, on that very bed, her cat next to her, at the end of a Friday evening full of healing and relief and fried nuggets. She deposited Terence on it and locked the door behind her. ¡°Rejuvenating, you were saying?¡± she popped back on top of Barry. ¡°Rejuwhat¡± ¡°Push that, strong¡± she pressed the two rags in the middle of his stomach and added his hand on it. Barry wriggled in pain and shoved his other hand into his mouth, gnawing on his fingers. She looked at the roll of tape and thought what the fuck am I doing. ¡°Listen I will have to disinfect everything and proceed very carefully, but first I must go to school and get some supplies from the infirmary¡± ¡°L Leave me?¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright Barry¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to call the police¡± he cried ¡°No¡± ¡°You¡¯re gonna¡± ¡°I promise that I won¡¯t¡± ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ leave me¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright¡± she wiped the water and the sweat off his forehead in a gesture that meant to be comforting but that only managed to spread more sticky blood to his face ¡°it¡¯s going to be alright¡± Are you out of your mind, she heard her inside voice rise up STOP DISTRACTING ME, she continued talking to Barry: ¡°I will have a look at you and then I will decide what to do, I¡¯m going to unzip you, this time, okay? You just have to lie here and keep your hand like that, pushing, I¡¯ll go under it¡± Two sparkly tears appeared at the corners of his eyes and dropped heavily, ¡°you¡¯ve ever helped some people who had been shot when you were a nurse?¡± ¡°Just don¡¯t punch me or slap me or come anywhere near my face with your hands, keep them down¡± He swallowed what seemed like a mix of saliva and dry couscous, ¡°you¡¯ve ever saved anyone who had been shot before?¡± ¡°No¡± she pinched the little zipper at the start of his neck and worked down. ¡°You¡¯ve ever seen someone who had been shot when you were a nurse?¡± ¡°Yes¡± Eugenie spread out the hoodie and lifted his hand. Under that, his suit. This time, she recognized it at first glance, ¡°holy shit¡± ¡°WHAT¡± Barry panicked and raised his head. ¡°No no no¡± she pushed it back against the table, ¡°it¡¯s just crazy to see that¡­ uniform. I¡¯ve seen you on television before actually¡± ¡°You¡¯re freaking me out¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry it¡¯s just¡­ intimidating¡± ¡°What did you think when you saw me on television¡± he asked ¡°I thought uh¡± Eugenie brought her mini radiator closer to the table, programmed it to the highest level. ¡°You thought it was pretty cool didn¡¯t you¡± ¡°Yes Barry I¡­ thought it was pretty cool¡± ¡°You remember Dave?¡± ¡°Dave?¡± ¡°From Geo class. He called me a l l l loser every day--¡± ¡°But he wore a Bolt tee-shirt!¡± Eugenie exclaimed. They both burst in a sudden laughter. Barry gobbled on his breath crookedly and clung to the table under him ¡°fuuck why am I laughing¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay¡± she hovered her hand above him like it had some magic healing properties, grabbed the scissors with readiness, ¡°how attached are you to this suit?¡± ¡°I only have this one. It was a gift¡± ¡°Have you ever heard of minimalism¡± ¡°Mimi¡­ minimi¡­¡± he tried, went cross-eyed ¡°Spiritual detachment¡± ¡°Spp p¡ª¡± ¡°Barry, I need to cut through the suit, unless you have a way to take it off?¡± He shook his head, ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ move my ass¡± One more tear detached from his eye, very round, very sparkly, ¡°It¡¯s okay, do it¡± ¡°I need to examine you and I need you to dry, seriously¡± ¡°I¡¯m scared¡± ¡°Me too¡± she tilted the scissors and started cutting. It was more difficult than she thought ¡°hang on¡± ¡°You¡¯ve ever seen someone who had been shot die when you were a nurse?¡± ¡°No¡± she lied. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (11) Friday ¡°Eugenie, are you happy at the hospital, doing this internship?¡± Dr Brugg had asked her in her office some fifteen years back. He was ambidextrous, which sometimes led him to take a pen from his box while he was already holding a pen in his other hand without realizing it. She had admired once more the Latin American style of the decoration of his office, the warm wood, the delicate intrusion of some mate metals here and there, the soft light falling on the massive oily plants. It had happened to her before that she thought she could see those plants breathe. ¡°Hmm¡± ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t intend to put my nose in your personal business, but you seem¡­ unsure¡± She had not been happy at all and at the young age that had been hers, she had despaired. So many years of studies, so many sleepless nights, so many chemical bubbles of energy drinks inflicted to her digestive system, and she was failing miserably. What would she do? Was her life over? Eugenie eyed the gaping hole in the middle of Barry¡¯s stomach after turning the top part of his superhero magic suit into shredded cheese and discarding it. Underneath, his shirt was blackened with old blood mixing with the new, redder, flashier, wetter. And yet, Barry was right about one thing, she had indeed seen some shit when she had attempted to be a nurse and failed at it. She was not someone who fainted at the sight of blood or guts, or protruding bones. She wasn¡¯t bothered by it, only concerned that it was there, in such huge quantity. She rolled up Barry¡¯s shirt, saw that a touch of purple was pulsating at the center of the hole. Now, in the absence of scanning equipment, she was going to have to figure out where the projectile that had dug that hole was located, and in a completely different way. You seem unsure. She was quite fucking unsure. She cleared her throat. Barry lifted himself up on his elbows in fright, clenched his teeth, ¡°WHAT is it is it like is it bad¡± ¡°No no no, no looking¡± she pushed him back again ¡°Barry, I need to ask you a very important question. When those ro¡­ those r¡ª¡± she couldn¡¯t bring herself to say the word robots and not think that she had followed Barry into madness and had begun to lose her mind too, ¡°when those uh things shot at you, did the bullet come from an angle? Or from in front of you?¡± She felt bad interrogating him this way, recalled that, at school, memorizing things had not been his forte, ¡°maybe you don¡¯t know I mean¡ª¡± ¡°Oh I know v vvery well¡± he retorted with a scandalized tone ¡°because when it h hhappened, I was still inside the bolt bubble, so I saw it coming in total slow motion, right in front of me¡± ¡°You are shitting me¡± Barry shook his head in utmost seriousness, angered at the events he was recounting ¡°for real. But I want to c c cclarifffy that¡± he closed his eyes and reopened them, appeared to think about his story ¡°there were like twenty five of those motherfuckers, and I d d dod dod dod¡ª¡± ¡°Dod what¡± Eugenie encouraged him ¡°Dodged them all¡­ except that one¡± She did her best to smile at him with warmth, ¡°you did well, and you remember well, this is very helpful, Barry, now¡± she had to get started ¡°tell me who gave you that suit¡± ¡°You¡¯re trying to d distract me¡± ¡°Yes¡± she hurried to run her fingers around on his stomach, pushed, pressed delicately, and then hard, ¡°just uh hang on¡± ¡°Fuuu¡ª Hobbes gave g¡ª¡± ¡°Hobbes gave you the suit?¡± ¡°Y y y yes¡± Barry¡¯s hands rolled into fists, one of them punched the table with refrained force, ¡°Holy shhh¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. ¡°He sounds nice, that Hobbes guy¡± ¡°No he¡¯s¡± he gasped, ¡°he¡¯s an ass¡± ¡°Almost finished, hang on Barry¡± ¡°He told me¡­ if I needed the suit to feel like the Bolt, then maybe I shouldn¡¯t have it¡± ¡°Wise words¡± Eugenie didn¡¯t really care about the tale, so she completed her examination, replaced the two rags on top of Barry¡¯s abdomen, seized his right hand, ¡°un-fist your hand Barry, come on, try to relax now¡± she pulled hard on his fingers to unroll them, topped the pile off dust cloth with his hand, ¡°hold yourself like this. Listen, this wound, it¡¯s not deep, actually, just some five or six centimeters. Your suit is very thick and it helped you a lot. I can feel that bullet with my fingers¡± ¡°Oh yikes¡± he said, disgusted ¡°Yeah, but that¡¯s good news, perhaps you didn¡¯t suffer so much uh, I don¡¯t know¡­ internal damage, I mean hopefully¡± Unsure. Unsure. ¡°So¡­¡± he was drained now, exhausted, slurring his words, ¡°like a flesh¡­ flesh wound¡± Eugenie squinted, ¡°yes uh¡­ like a uh¡­ flesh wound¡± not really but okay ¡°So you mean¡± she could hear the feeble hope in his voice, some vague cheer, ¡°I kind of¡­ overreacted?¡± ¡°Mmmm?¡± she looked at the ceiling, unsure, ¡°look, you did something earlier, you told me, in a bathroom, to patch yourself up?¡± ¡°I went to a brasserie and¡± his eyelids flickered, ¡°rolled myself into some tissues, but I lost them later, when I¡­ walked to here¡± ¡°How did you get into a brasserie¡± ¡°I uh¡­ bolted¡± ¡°Ah yes, of course. You did extremely well, muchacho¡± He smiled in his drowsy state, ¡°I had forgotten you¡¯re¡­ Spanish¡± ¡°I¡¯m Swedish. Barry, here¡¯s what¡¯s going to happen. I¡¯m going to trash that old wet hoodie that¡¯s covered with blood, sandwich you under some towels, and you will dry. Alright? You have one job: to dry off¡± ¡°Dry¡± he repeated obediently. She had not seen obedient Barry before. It was troubling her. ¡°If you are cold, you can use that blow drier here¡± she plugged the device into a cord, ¡°and then I¡¯m going to tape you to the table so you don¡¯t fall off while I¡¯m gone¡± ¡°GONE¡± He squealed in apprehension. ¡°To school, I need some things, like a lot of things. I need to sanitize this whole room before I can do anything to help you. I¡¯m not going to be long, and look at this thing¡± she waved the phone receptor in front of his eyes, ¡°I will call you steadily on this device to check on you every ten minutes, have you ever seen this before?¡± ¡°Yes it¡¯s a landline¡± ¡°I never know with you teenagers¡± ¡°Noo don¡¯t leave me please don¡¯t leave m¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to be fine, Barry, I¡¯ll be very quick¡± He swallowed what seemed to be some very thick stale bread crumbs, ¡°Can you bring some painkillers¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think they have very strong ones at¡­ at school¡± she almost said our school. Eugenie ran to the entrance of her apartment and picked up a huge puffy jacket that her uncle had forgotten a couple years before and that she loved to wear during the cold season. She eyed it, between her hands, thinking that she might never flaunt it again at the park smoking a cigarette and looking up at the crisp sky. Opening it completely, she shoved Barry¡¯s right arm into the left sleeve of the jacket so he would wear it in an inverted position, like a blanket, ¡°you need to get warmer, as soon as possible¡± The skin on his bare chest and stomach was covered with goosebumps. The hand she pulled out of the sleeve presented her with a thumb up. ¡°Don¡¯t fall asleep, Barry, now, let¡¯s see, you said you were shot in the arm too¡± ¡°I guess it was two bullets¡± he said grumpily, ¡°but that second time, they attacked me from behind, those c c cowards¡± ¡°Shitbags¡± Eugenie agreed, ¡°HOLY MOLLY¡± She lifted his arm up a little bit, his skin pasty with some darker blood, some of it crusty around two very clean holes, another projectile having gone through the part between his elbow and shoulder almost impeccably, as if the shooter had wished to show great precision skill. She didn¡¯t know anything about guns but, at least, the damage was drier. ¡°Gross¡± ¡°Does it hurt, your arm?¡± She grabbed another square of cloth and wrapped it around it. ¡°No¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°Only when I¡¯m breathing¡± She squeezed his hand affectionately this time, pet it like a little hamster, ¡°always hilarious, it seems, Barry Masquevert¡± ¡°I still beat you at arm wrestle¡± ¡°You¡¯re a tough cookie¡± she smiled an honest smile, ¡°high five¡± ¡°No please not one of your stup¡ª¡± ¡°GOOD JOB¡± she teased him. What are you doing Obviously I¡¯m trying to keep his spirits high, what do you think I¡¯m doing You¡¯re hoping this is going to work out. While you¡¯re leaving him here pinned and taped and exposed on your dinner table with a hole in the middle of his body and surrounded by potential incendiary machines ¡°GOLD STAR¡± she recalled he especially hated that expression when he was a student in her class. ¡°Uuuhghhgh, cringe¡± his face crumpled like a raisin ¡°damniit¡± ¡°Stay still¡± she pushed his left arm into the right sleeve of the sweater. ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to m mmove¡± ¡°Who will clean my house? It looks like a war zone¡± ¡°Oh my gggod. I¡¯m so sorry¡± ¡°Hey that doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯m kidding. Barry, stay still, lie flat. I will be back, so remember? You have to stay still and DRY¡± PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (12) Friday How was she functioning right now? She asked herself. Her hands were trembling on the wheel of her car. Adrenaline, she heard the voice. That would soon run out. Eugenie took the time to stop at a small grocery store before exiting the city to buy a can of energy drink. Nothing like the pop of a can opening in one¡¯s hand, the ice cold temperature against one¡¯s skin and placing it in the cup holder of one¡¯s vehicle to already wake one up psychologically. She realized the radio was broadcasting a weekly night show she hated, a talk show inviting guests to debate anything that was keeping people awake, from politics to cooking recipes, anything from old and new books to wellness and esotherism. There was nothing in particular to hate about this show except that it was a late-late-night and early-early-morning show and that she had listened to it while grading papers at ungodly hours in order to meet some impossible deadlines so many times that now she execrated it. She cut the radio off. One thing Eugenie loved about teaching was teaching. She disliked the rest of her job: lesson-planning, rushing to get photocopies done, queuing at an old machine, chitchatting with some colleagues while looking stressfully at the clock. Creating documents, rubrics, emailing parents, calling parents, replacing ¡®your child is behaving like a shitbag¡¯ by ¡®I have genuine concern about your child¡¯ on the phone with them. Filling out reports at the end of terms and, cherry on the cake, marking assignments and tests and papers and slideshows. There had been instances where she had even lost quizzes and pretended that everyone got A¡¯s or B¡¯s. ¡®Buut I didn¡¯t answer any question on the quiz¡¯ a student had pointed out to her. She had darted a threatening look back at her and, thankfully, the girl had been a Freshman, easily reduced to silence. She knew she was supposed to assess all the bell-work she did every day, the quick transition exercises that teachers gave pupils at the beginning of a lesson to transition between the last and the new, evaluate what had been retained and put her class in the mood for Geography, but the task was simply too overwhelming. She had let the little bell-work sheets of papers collected from her groups pile up in a corner of her apartment until the pile had become a tower and, one day, Spring cleaning, she had trashed the whole thing, unable to fight the urge.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Eugenie had never done bell-work again, except when she was observed. ¡®Buut we usually skip bell-work¡¯ the same student had remarked in front of the principal, and she had thrown her murderous look at the girl once more. The girl producing the comment hadn''t been a Freshman anymore back then but, thank God, being expressed at the start of the period, when everyone was getting in position with chairs and tables raking the floors, the words had gone unheard. Teaching was her thing, it had always been, she had always felt a natural draw to it, even though she knew that a lot of teenagers found her style lacking entertainment and engagement. She didn¡¯t mind struggles with discipline, she didn¡¯t mind tensions between her and her youngsters, she didn¡¯t even mind mingling in their rowdy packs during her duties and supervisions. Thinking of such duties and supervisions, she suddenly remembered: Barry. Eugenie catastrophically swerved without activating her turn signal and parked, tyres screeching, on the side of the road, dialed her landline number on her cell phone. ¡°Barry¡± she called him inside the cabin of her car, popped open her door to switch on the light next to the rear view mirror. The little beeping warning that came with the opening of the door was comforting over the unanswered ringing of the phone. Eugenie was feeling worn out and super-aware, her vision sharp in the night, feeling like she could hear all the secret noises of the world and mice chewing on an old piece of cracker at the bottom of someone¡¯s cupboard a mile away. She took one more sip of her caffeinated drink and hung up. Barry didn¡¯t answer. She been in her thoughts too long and waited too long to call, forgotten, and now, he must be asleep. She hoped that he was just asleep. What if the landline receptor had fallen from the table and he couldn''t reach for it, as she had taped him to the dinner table? Taped him to the dinner table, she heard her own through and buried her eyes inside her hands. Is that what you are doing now? Taping people to tables? Breaking into school in the middle of the night? She was not breaking into school, she had her pass, and no educator was forbidden to enter school grounds even at unreasonable times of the day or night, even during holidays. She knew that in Sweden, where her family was from, the schools she had attended as a little girl had strict policies against staff entering outside of school hours, and she admired that, so European, she thought back to those ancient times, so discouraging of people letting work overstep personal lives, imposing on even the most workaholics of teachers that they would take their breaks and unplug and not be authorized to lay eyes on the familiar landscapes of their workplaces when it was time to be away. Eugenie felt immensely glad that she lived in the United States, where such practices were not frowned upon. Now it would be to her advantage. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (13) Friday I have to take next week off, the whole fucking week. How do I do that? She thought about Chedli, the doctor she had dated during nursing school and who had been her occasional booty call around her failed marriage and divorce. Since then, she had been relieved to not be keeping touch with that man, as she had always felt that he wanted more out of her and that now that she was single, he would try his luck with her. But perhaps he would be able to help? That was a shit idea, she saw, kept driving. Five minutes later she was in full countryside, her headlights piercing thick blackness. Later at the moment of sunrise, she knew, the skies would be grey and there would be fog, in the small town of Krainville. She couldn¡¯t believe most of her school crowd and pupils had been born, were growing up and would continue settling down in such a restricted environment. No wonder the adolescents in her class thought confused Australia and Austria and thought that Africa was a country: they lived in a tiny bubble that they would never leave! She sat on a bench once a week for supervision of the entrance hall with a younger coworker, Melissa, a Science teacher, who had frequented the very school where she was now teaching, from primary to twelfth grade. The concept of this existence gave Eugenie some vertigo. Melissa had said to her once, ¡°Don¡¯t you think that Barry Masquevert looks like that boy in Friday Night Lights?¡± ¡°That¡¯s such a huge show¡± Eugenie had answered, the wheels of her brain turning, ¡°you¡¯d have to be more specific¡± ¡°The prick one with the long hair¡± She switched off her car, waited on the deserted parking lot of her high school, her door half open again to get some light, oscillating between the freezing temperature outside and the heat inside her coat, inside the car. She called Barry again unsuccessfully, hung up, then seriously eyeballed the cell phone in her hand and so intensely that her sight started to become blurry. I swear to you I will not call the police, she recalled her promise to Barry. But he was not picking up, and she was concerned, and she was now far away from her flat. She could just give up now and call the police. What was her word, against urgency? You mean against plain reality, the voice corrected her, putting her current living-on-the-edge-of-delusion on the spot. Of course, that would be a whole ordeal to explain, she would have to really get her story straight, but that was more sensible than trying to save that boy¡¯s life by breaking into school ¨CI AM NOT BREAKING INTO SCHOOL, she barked back for the hundredth time at her inner voice¡ª and relying on old eroded skills. What are you doing?? The voice panicked I am exiting my car, you hear me? I am not dishonoring my pledge, you hear me? Barry will die. He will NOT. Eugenie ejected her two feet out of the car, closed the door, slid the phone inside her large pockets and walked to the main entrance of the high school. She did feel like a major trespasser when she scanned her badge and pushed the heavy door, her heart beating madly in her chest. She granted one last glance at the parking lot, her little car like a dot in the center of the lot. It was empty, there was nobody at school. Such a challenge it was, to superpose images of the same place buzzing with students bumping into each other, rising the noise level outrageously, smelling like people, coursed with urgency at the sounds of the bells when the whole population was rushing to classes at the same time and creating a flow so dense and so unstoppable that it felt like it could create its own seismic wave. She was not worried about explaining herself to anyone. Granted, such a place was loaded with security cameras but, during nighttime, the watching rooms were un-staffed and, if nothing triggered the rewinding and viewing of footage, old footage was erased and covered with new filming two weeks later. Eugenie just had to do her thing and hope that nothing would prompt a reason to examine the security tapes of the hallways and main areas of the large building for a period of fifteen days. That meant that she would, yes, intrude into the nurse¡¯s office, but take only the minimum she needed, so as not to alarm anyone about files missing or misplaced medical supplies, then, if she did just that, everything would go unnoticed. Eugenie proceeded from the main door to the main hall and called all the lights to burst open. They were like a thirty meter radius around anyone marching on inside and activating the motion sensors and that was a little humbling. Yesterday¡¯s Eugenie wouldn¡¯t have easily imagined that light could be scarier than darkness. Were there flaws in her plan to just hope for the best when it came to the rows of cameras lining up the ceilings? What would you do, if things came to worst? I would say I was sleepwalking. Light flooding all the corridors of the school as she followed her usual maze of turns and angles, she passed by her classroom door, her steps echoing in the stillness of the place, her tennis shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and she entered the staff room. The poster near the door greeted her: Rage Against the Machine didn¡¯t specify which machine, but it was probably a printer. She always liked that joke. She threw herself against the cubby of the chief nurse, Penny Allen, a lady from Larken, the town next to Krainville. Eugenie slid her fingers into the slit of the nurse¡¯s drawer and rubbed them against the mess of keys inside. She retrieved them, took a nanosecond to appreciate their weight in her hand. Somewhere she had the memory of reading that the sound of keys jingling was the perfect imitating of what it sounded like when maggots were eating at a dead body, undoubtedly from all the true crime she was consuming on a daily basis. Not keys jingling, the voice corrected, rather the noise it makes when you shuffle bead bracelets or pearl necklaces. Ah yes, that¡¯s what it was, Eugenie granted to the voice. Here it was! The key to the infirmary. Two floors up. She had always wondered why Penny¡¯s office was perched like a dungeon like this, when you were supposed to send sick kids to her. So many steps! Now she was sweaty, felt damp under her arms, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. The key chain wasn¡¯t holding just one key, but overall ten keys. Small ones, big ones. She got the right one at the first try and shoved herself into the room, her senses immediately assailed by a wave of hospital smells, which alarmed and comforted her at the same time. She waited for the lights to turn on for a long time, pressed against the door, before realizing that the sickroom wasn¡¯t equipped with sensors. Her hands padded the wall searching for the switch and, not finding it, she used the flashlight on her cell phone. The first thing she saw when the light came up into the room was Penny¡¯s desk and the telephone on it, next to a pencil case that read the message This meeting could have been a fistfight. She liked Penny¡¯s humor, she was a very skinny woman with inexplicably huge breasts and even bigger eyes of a liquidy blue color, and she acted tough, as she did in front of pupils who acted out all sorts of illnesses and plagues while their real diagnosis was laziness and un-submitted homework, but she had a big heart. She heard the silence, the absolute silence. Slowed down by her internal conflict, Eugenie kept zooming in on the cell phone in her hand to the more traditional receptor on the desk. She could still call 911. From here, an anonymous call. You¡¯re such a dumbass. What are you waiting for? But this was Barry¡¯s life that hung in the balance, wasn¡¯t it? Her fingers slid timidly on the receiver, a standard black model, her hand picked it up and brought it to her ear. I just want to listen to the flat tone, she thought, begging the voice to hold space for mercy, for her to think things over, I just want to hear it and think about it. And decide. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Three digits, much less than the number of fingers she owned on her right hand, and Barry would stop being her problem. She imagined it, the relief, the awkwardness at first, how angry and terrified he would be, but then, he would be safe, for sure, and she wouldn¡¯t have to continue living in this new state of constant chest compression and shortness of breath and neurons on fire. ¡°I can¡¯t¡± she said finally and in a sob, hanging up the phone hard. She opened her mouth wider to take in more air but found her trachea obstructed by the terror. She crouched down in a woodlice position on the floor by the desk. This infirmary was too real, it said to her: if she found something useful in here, that meant she hoped to be able to prevent Barry from dying, from blood loss, from infection, from shock, from his ordeal. That signified she shared his faith in her, or desperation in her, and gave desperation a drop of faith. She thought about her own pencil case on her own desk in her classroom, which always amused students who had read or watched Game of Thrones ¨Cit was now an old show, and an even more outdated book series, relegated to vintage, so it was not a customary teenage thing to have stumbled upon it¡ª: Valar Morghulis. Breathe, breathe. There was a student ¨Cno, she corrected, not a student anymore, a former student. Better? No. But yes, indeed¡ª taped to her dining table in her apartment, awaiting urgent care for serious injuries, and he was asking her to save his life, and she wouldn¡¯t call for outside assistance. Eugenie silenced a cry inside her thick sleeves, buried her nose in the fluff. Calm down, she told herself. It worked. Magically. She had to cease wasting precious time dwelling on her emotional responses to her situation, she had to get moving! Okay, now, if you¡¯re going to go at it, search the fuck out of this place, the voice now seemed amused. Eugenie opened the first closet, discovered it was a spot almost entirely devoted to snacks, goldfish, peanut butter treats, granola bars, a collection of very expensive tea bags of all flavors. She slid some of those inside her tote bag without thinking. Raspberry ginger and rose petals? No question! Next closet. At the third closet, she got her hands on the files, and then a very big box which threatened to fall apart, saying Archives and a bunch of consecutive years. What year had Barry been in high school? She rested her forehead against the door of the closet, thinking deep. Four, five years ago? She couldn¡¯t be sure. Had she been divorced for longer than that? Certainly, she had been, as the separation had begun when she had Barry in her Geography class in Sophomore year. She grabbed the box with the year she thought was theirs, a year of antagonism and affront and power struggle, and set out to explore its content on a table at the center of the room. As she lifted the box, its bottom tore off from the rest of it and all the archives cascaded on the floor ¡°Shit!¡± she exclaimed, then put a hand on her mouth. No one can hear you right now. How could something like that be good news and bad news at the same time? She knelt on the floor next to the mount of dropped files. Whipping out her cell phone from her pocket again, her face covered in sweat, she tried her landline once more, without an answer. A needle in a haystack, she thought, observing the mess of papers and bent dossiers in front of her. Well, not really, she saw the post-it notes with the year sticking out here and there, and brought her nose closer. On those notes, the neat and cautious handwriting of Penny the Nurse had been classifying the documents into years and months and sometimes even days, if something worth dating has occurred, for example, someone passing out from a stuffed-out joint in the restrooms, someone¡¯s cutting their hand on art supplies, someone breaking someone else¡¯s nose in a locker fight. Such organisation was difficult to fathom for Eugenie White, a teacher creature who would happily burn her quizzes and bell-work slips into a big Winter and Summer equinox fires due to too much struggle keeping up with the flow of material to label, organize, allocate and grade. 2012. Yes, here it was. She had to dig there and so, she did. What would a security camera have captured if the ceiling of the infirmary had been provided with one? A Geography teacher sitting in the middle of a sea of files on th floor, stretching an arm at one or another, discarding the useless one into a new sub-pile on the left while sorting out the ones with potential on the right side. After twenty minutes, she understood that the oldest folders were washed up green, meaning they were documenting students that no longer attended the school, while the new ones were rather apple green. When she finally located Barry¡¯s old medical file, she was surprised on how thin it was. She had dug out some pancakes of a dossier earlier in her search, asthma, sensory overload, diabetes, lupus, lyme, ear infections, being hit in the face by a basketball, heavy menstruation, low bloor pressure, starvation, some shit that the teenagers reported at the infirmary, some dark shit that she didn¡¯t want to linger on: mysterious bruises, crooked teeth, steadily reports of falling down the stairs, cigarette burns, hair straightener burns, poisoning from ingesting bleach. She closed her eyes, reopened them. Dark dark dark. All secrets of the little town having a trace here, blowing up and swelling down within the bubble of medical confidentiality. This world was so dark. Did she like teaching all of those students with all their untold backgrounds? Yes, yes. She liked stepping in front of the group, making it a tale, a narrative, keeping the best part of the story she was telling for the end, interjecting cliffhangers every here and there, it was like being on stage, it was like theater. Beyond that, was she aware each of them had a personality, an identity building slowly but rapidly at the same time, emerging strongly from childhood, defining itself in the middle of the warzone that was pre-puberrty, puberty, hardcore adolescence? Yes, yes, Eugenie nodded to herself. It was difficult to consider individuals when you had twenty-seven of them gathered in a small space, when you had a curriculum to wrap, deadlines to meet, the eye of the school board spying on you. Even more arduous when each of the twenty-seven people in front of you didn¡¯t have any other concern than their own within the party of twenty-seven, sometimes twenty-eight, clashing against collective priorities and the real world of educating masses in a limited timeframe and society¡¯s arbitrary decision to cram instruction into seven months of school per natural year ¨Cnothing was natural about those school years¡ª in the hope to form adult citizens who would enter thesaid real world as functioning adutls. Had she been a school nurse, she would deal with them isolated from the assembly. Had she been a school psychologist or a Special Needs assistant, a councelor, same. Did she care so much about geography that she agreed to sacrifice humanity over teaching? Eugenie didn¡¯t know. Barry certainly demanded that of her, at the present moment, all that she had desired to convey to him about countries, nations being born from history, borders, socio-political agreements, economics, globalization, now rendered useless in front of the pressing matters that were his. Eugenie forced herself to not glance at the telephone on Nurse Penny¡¯s desk anymore. Barry¡¯s file was just two sheets of paper. O positive, she read with great relief, and looked at the second page. It was mentioning that once, someone had dropped a chair on his pinkie finger but that the finger was fine. She went back to the first page again, looked at his photo, such a young and blas¨¦ Barry on it, who was the Barry she knew the most. Had he already been the Bolt back then, when that photo was taken on Picture Day? She brought the photo under her nose, smelled it. It smelled like old paper and old cardbox. His hair had been longer and dirtier, back then, and he was wearing an awful and messy bandana to style it, which was really terrible in terms of fashion. A protest shone in his young eyes, an expression she had seen every day at lunch time, and everything he had done had been to trigger her and the rest of the world. She had had four years of that Barry, intolerable, uncontrollable. She wondered why she kept having some tears as she brushed the photo with her thumb. Why? She had not known what he had been going through. She had not known his personal story, she was just trying to teach him about countries and borders and lakes and sediments. She presented him and the rest of her class with boxes of crayons to work on maps, as if it was necessary, as if it was the key to their success, as if it was meant to fill in an empty space in their lives, and she never wondered what empty space they had gaping there, in the middle of their lives, waiting to be filled, nourished. She was a kind teacher, but kind of an ignorant one. Sometimes, she thought with guilt, she was too much into her own lectures, enjoying the sound of her own voice, not wondering if she was actually drawing them in enough, interesting them enough, bringing them enough relevance. Eugenie closed her eyes, dizzy. She folded Barry¡¯s information inside her bag and her fingers brushed against the stolen tea bags at the bottom. She froze, sensing hairs rising on her forearms. The vision of the unopened closets which aligned against the wall landed in the middle of her brain. Now, she needed something next-level from the place, before she left it and placed the keys back into Penny¡¯s cubby in the staff room and ran back to her car. She unzipped her coat, let it drop to the floor dramatically, admired the many keys in her hand. One of those little things had the power to unlock the massive armoires behind Penny¡¯s desk, the ones with the medical supplies. It was winter enough, sufficiently close to Christmas, she guessed. Time for some shopping. It¡¯s only shopping if you actually shop. What do you mean If you just take, that¡¯s called ¡®stealing¡¯. Ah yes, yes PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (14) Saturday In the liminal place between not awake and awake, in the in-between place between life and death. There was a menace in the poking of skin, connecting the insides of a person with the outside world, potentially mixing the two in a way that wasn¡¯t meant for survival, but for dark things, evil things. Shaking his butt in the same spot like a worm, Barry got rid of the tape and painfully pulled himself with one hand on the cliff of the table to roll on his side. He couldn¡¯t stay lying on his back like a corpse before an autopsy like that. His eyes fell inside the orangey ones of Terence the cat, the color of embers. They had met before, unbeknownst to Eugenie White, and thankfully Terence didn¡¯t have any words from the human dictionary to testify about this encounter to his owner. ¡°I thought you were locked in the bedroom, little friend¡± Barry blew some air and closed his eyes and, when he reopened them, the animal wasn¡¯t there anymore. He was probably losing his marbles. One thing that made him nervous about not having opted for an actual hospital was the amount of physical suffering he would have to endure, which would have found a very simple solution from modern medicine in an official place with real doctors and real medicine cabinets. But not here, he swallowed hard, scared shitless. How long would he be able to handle that? He knew that people died from this kind of predicament. He needed to focus on something, stop his thoughts from being disordered by the pain. It was a well-known phenomenon that for sentient beings, imagining pain was as much painful as, if not more painful, than pain itself. What was that sentence? Thinking about pain was like worshiping the pain. For instance, if a person was strong enough, they could identify that their discomfort came from one dot on the body, and that there was no need to make a bigger fuss about it or about some other displeasure. Nerves were not carrying fire or fiery ice more than the brain was, or something like that. Barry wasn¡¯t sure. It was a bit late to teach himself this meditative approach, he saw, so he tried to think. Where could the members of his team have disappeared to? He lost track of time overlapping scenarios and theories, confused by the pain, distracted by his anguish, had a vision of Eugenie White dressed as a scary Halloween nurse. In the vision, she was creepy as in, ominous, threatening, not slutty like the high school girls when they dressed up for Trick or Treat. He smiled at her. ¡°Why are you smiling?¡± the vision asked ¡°SHIT I thought I was dreaming¡± Barry was shocked by the sound of his own voice. His vocal cords seemed to enjoy a very new direct connection with his entrails, and forming words with his mouth now tugged at his abdomen with some fingers made of flames. ¡°You look like a horror movie nurse¡± ¡°I was going for just nurse, to be honest¡± ¡°You are b b bback¡± She smelled like soap, rubber, from the gloves she was wearing, and like, burned wood, she smelled like pine, her face hidden behind a thick white mask. She had covered her hair with a thin towel rolled up in a ball and her chest with an apron. The font of the apron said 1984. Was it the year of her birth? Something also smelled like boiled water in titanium. Barry gagged from the assault of all the various scents. ¡°You¡¯re okay?¡± she asked him He blinked several times with perplexity from that question, chose to ignore it, ¡°What¡¯s going to happen now?¡± ¡°Now, I uh¡­ I¡ª¡± Ms White planted her gloved hands on her waist, looked up at the ceiling. ¡°You don¡¯t know¡± he smiled at her in the most non-judgmental manner possible. She was the one with the tools. ¡°I¡­ I¡­ well, Barry, there isn¡¯t any easy way to say this: I need to fetch that bullet that hit you¡± His heart skipped a beat ¡°Nooo¡± he whined, ¡°maybe like, tomorrow¡± ¡°Barry¡± ¡°Nooo¡± ¡°You think I want to do this?¡± ¡°I know¡± he said sadly. ¡°No I didn¡¯t mean it like that, sorry¡± her eyes on top of the mask filled with sadness, ¡°I¡¯m happy to help Barry, if I can be of assistance for someone like a superhero who puts his life at risk every day and gives so much to the communi¡ª¡± ¡°I get it I get it, Ms White¡± he sniffled, rubbed his nose with the ample sleeve of the jacket she had dressed him into. ¡°The time we waste talking about it, I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s not good¡± He nodded gravely and felt two thick tears escape from the corners of his eyes, shook his head to hurry their fall.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. She went on: ¡°listen, I have a plan¡± ¡°Are your hands trembling?¡± ¡°Yes Barry what do you think? I¡¯ve never done this before!¡± He nodded again in what he hoped would be an expression of sympathy, ¡°it¡¯s alright I¡­ totally trust you¡± He lied. She nodded in turn and they nodded to each other in silence for a good twenty seconds. ¡°How is your pain level right now?¡± ¡°High¡± ¡°I mean, from one to ten, how is it¡± ¡°Eight¡± ¡°Eight¡± she repeated, trying to draw some conclusions. ¡°Eight thousand¡± ¡°Okay give me a minute¡± she seemed on the verge of a meltdown, ¡°give me a minute¡± He did. There wasn¡¯t much he was looking forward to in his immediate future anyway. Barry watched her pinch the bridge of her nose and close her eyes, tilt her head down. Only able to see her eyebrows and her hairline in the middle of all the white colour, he watched her quietly, forced the smells coming out of her into his nostrils. Fetch that bullet that hit you. More tears dug into his sinuses. His fear was afraid itself. In the distance, he could faintly hear what either was a strident police siren or a choir of high-pitched children voices. Take all the minutes you wish, he thought. Eugenie emerged from her reflection and grabbed something on the side. She looked ready ¡°my plan is, look, you were right earlier, I¡¯m going to turn on the television volume very high, just in case you¡± she located the remote control for the huge black rectangle above her fireplace in the middle of the mess that had been dropped and smashed from her table, ¡°you uh¡­ shout or yell¡± ¡°Scream?¡± Barry asked in horror ¡°Cuss, express yourself, motherfucker this, motherfucker that¡± She pressed a button and the welcoming page of her programs opened on the screen, ¡°be my guest, it¡¯s always uh¡± she browsed through her current queues, ¡°good, to let it out, you know?¡± ¡°Ru Paul¡¯s Dr¡ª Oh, is that Real Housewives of¡± Barry said ¡°No comment¡± ¡°That¡¯s a lot of r r r reality TV¡± ¡°And what is your secret guilty pleasure you like to watch?¡± she asked him, smiling in good spirits. Barry had forgotten how much her eyes smiled when you couldn¡¯t see her mouth. He faintly smiled back at her, summoning the energy to match her effort, ¡°now why ww w would I tell you that¡± ¡°Let¡¯s agree, if you survive, you will tell me¡± she lifted the bottom part of the sweater he was wearing like a little blanket. Before he could react to the if, she added: ¡°listen¡­ put your hands on the sides, cling to the table and¡­ in the meantime, you can bite on this¡± She tapped his nose and chin with a gloved finger and inserted a thick paintbrush inside his mouth. He tasted the cedar wood and gagged more. ¡°After I am done, hopefully, I will give you something¡± ¡°Fvainbfiller?¡± ¡°Something to sleep¡± ¡°Faffever¡± Suddenly, the sound of an episode of the Real Housewives of Georgia climbed from damper to deafening. Barry heard a female voice with an Atlanta drawl complain forcefully to the camera, ¡®if you work at my restaurant, I don¡¯t care how many of those waiters are your exes, you have to serve those dishes, sweetheart¡¯ ¡°Alright Barry no fear¡± Eugenie¡¯s eyes shone with what he could clearly see was monstrous fear. She wriggled a small scalpel in the air and leaned over him. A man opposed, ¡®Susan thinks Ashley and I are hooking up in the restaurant, that makes me want to vomit¡¯ ¡°Ho fveaf¡± Barry repeated ¡°Think about something nice¡± ¡°Foheffffing niFUUUUU¡± Her first incision cut deeply into him and his eyes bulged out of his head so as if to flee the danger zone. ¡°Stay still, please¡± she maintained her hand in a firm position while holding him down as strongly as she could with her left arm on his chest, ¡°it¡¯s not gonna¡ª BARRY¡± ¡®You have been caught on camera, you idiot!¡¯ Susan continued to quarrel ¡®Susan, you know well that Warren has copied my haircut after he saw my last head shots, that could be him!¡¯ ¡°Barry, don¡¯t bend your legs DON¡¯T B¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯mfowwy¡± Barry shook his head and spat out the paintbrush, ¡°I can¡¯t breathe with that thing in my mouth¡± ¡°You will bite your tongue BARRY TRUST ME. Hold. Still!¡± she replaced it between his teeth ¡°I¡¯m not fucking around Barry. I know you can handle it, okay?¡± ¡°Ih ffhurf foo huuf¡± ¡°YOUR FEET Barry control your feet please, I¡¯m making progress, here NO don¡¯t let go off the table, deep breath in, ready?¡± The deep breath in burst halfway through Barry¡¯s nose and throat, he was tasting some new blood and something salty, but the air that Eugenie White hoped he would gather and inhale was ablaze. The wringing out of the middle of his body into what felt like a small burning dot made it impossible to breathe and, now, his nose was getting runny from crying like a little bitch. Barry was immensely depressed and tortured, ¡°fihihed?¡± he asked desperately. On the show, Ashley was denying everything too, ¡®oh my god, I would rather shave my head than date Allen¡¯ ¡®But we are talking about Warren here, not Allen¡¯ the interviewer remarked, followed by a sad saxophone jingle. ¡°Hang on¡± Ms White brought one of her knees on top of the table and hunched evilly above him with a mission in her eyes, which were quite impressive since they were presently the only visible part of her face, ¡°just hang on¡± ¡°Ih fohha faf fout¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright Barry¡± ¡°Hou unheffhanv he?¡± ¡°I¡¯m guessing, wait a minute, COME ON¡± She plunged the scalpel under his skin again and Barry closed his eyes, abandoning himself to a stream of departure, ready to give it a wrap, not able to separate the parts of the sentences coming out of the television into their own substantives, everything becoming a puree with some Southern inflections and the sounds of silverware clicking against plates. Somewhere the feeling of being cut like a slice of quiche in the center of his stomach became very vivid, dancing in front of his shut eyelids, and he couldn¡¯t be sure he still had legs and feet anymore. There was just a black hole there, throbbing and sucking the rest of him down to mother earth, to the polished fiberboard of the table under his ass, to the floor of the flat, to the ground but further and further into the mantle and the core of the planet. Somewhere the feeling of dissociation was replaced by the possibility of merging with the planet. One nanosecond later as if to confirm his concern, mother Earth¡¯s gravity did call him nearer and the table finally broke in two, under his weight and from the brutal shakes and punches he had been inflicting to it. ¡°DAMN¡± he shouted, watching Eugenie White ascend above him before he landed for good at her feet in a fabulous fracas. And, just before he blacked out, his eyes intercepted the shiny reflection of the ceiling lamp on a tiny piece of metal at the end of her pincers. He heard, ¡®my restaurant, my rules¡¯ PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (15) 2014 - Barry¡¯s eleventh grade She remembered everything about Barry, which, she would find out much much later, had been his sole objective truly ¨Cthat she would, in fact, remember¡ª during the years they had shared at the big high school where she worked as a Geography teacher and where he was supposed to study, five or six years before. Eugenie remembered him spreading his arms lazily on his pupil¡¯s desk in her classroom, second hour of the day, still high from the night before, barely awake, uninspired by her lesson. She recalled he would wait for her to begin her canteen supervision duty and pull her on the side, begging for extra credit, and that she had been harsh with him, ¡°well, now, I¡¯m on duty, so we¡¯ll talk in class¡± She remembered granting him the extra credit for a research project and that he had just copied and pasted his essay from Wikipedia, not even bothering with the margins. She remembered delighting in assigning him a zero. She recalled her guilty pleasure when he saw the mark and gagged with shock and threw her a grumpy look from above his paper, which he would soon punch into a ball and drop in the trash. She had a vivid memory being responsible for parking lot triage at the end of the school day and blocking his car at the exit on purpose, just because he had pissed her off that day third hour, and letting a whole bus and several teachers¡¯ vehicles go before she let him drive out. Those ends of school days, she was wearing her winter gear under the bite of the blizzard, underneath a flashy yellow sleeveless jacket that gave her the authority to decide who would be allowed to exit the place in which order. She had the feeling their dialogue had started there, on this parking lot full of honks and teenagers screaming, with his frustration, hands clenched on the wheel, while he was probably thinking of his superhero errands and she was delaying him with her abuse of power, both her arms outstretched in a position that said STOP AND SHUT UP ¡°See you tomorrow Barry!¡± she had yelled many times as he accelerated out of the school grounds, and she was pretty sure she received a lot of middle fingers from him in return. As most teachers would confirm, she couldn¡¯t say that she had disliked Barry as her old student, but he was special. A wild card with whom she constantly had to be on her guards, unable to sit straight on his desk when he was not snoring in the middle of her lesson, bouncing against the walls and the lockers in the hallways, speaking out of turn, asking stupid questions just to throw her off her lecture, flirting with girls while she was handing out tests and the class was supposed to be silent. Eugenie was expected by her job description to control such a firecracker in her classroom, so she did, and felt occasional satisfaction, as she did with many other troublemakers, in seeing her privileged position overcome his many attempts to conquer her small teacher territory. Some other times, she didn¡¯t really think about it and just did her job with no feelings. But she didn¡¯t hate him. A lot of students were convinced that educators had strong feelings about them, of either favoritism or total enmity, but the truth was that in the middle of the endless to-do list imposed by the profession, teachers rarely hated or adored their pupils. She didn¡¯t dislike Barry, she even could sometimes like him, like she didn¡¯t dislike some other agitators, who were just that: agitators. Harmless creatures really, teenagers powered by pure hormones and Aderall pills, crazy about their cars and the girls and the boys, wild because they were young, provocative because their home situations or upbringings didn¡¯t reassure their need for structure with the necessary boundaries, loud and disruptive only because they were still children, mean because they were struggling with life, not targeting you specifically, and just being little shits but, inherently, good kids. Just because they drove automobiles and held some part-time jobs and could rise to high level of athletics or art, some people made the mistake to associate adolescents with adults, but any high school teacher would tell you: they had more I common with infants than grown-ups. She had liked Barry this accepting and trained way and, as she did with her other mildly difficult students, she had tried to make sure that he knew that, and that he didn¡¯t interpret her sanctioning his attitude as intimate animosity. When she sent him to detention or let a rain of Failing marks fall down on him, she made sure she had an encouraging word, when she had the time, to say that she believed he could do better. When he came back the next day and pretended to approach her lessons in a more respectful manner ¨Cwhich would last ten minutes, or fifteen minutes at most¡ª, she would welcome it with warmth and a positive endurance, erasing the slate. Tabula Rasa. She had taken him out of the group many times to talk privately in the hallway, addressed him in what she hoped would be shared trust, when he was eroding her patience near nothingness. ¡°Barry why are you acting this way? I know you are aware you¡¯re punishing the whole class with your behavior. I told you guys we¡¯d play a game but because you¡¯re being such a pain in my butt, I think I will give you a pop quiz¡± He was always different those times when she imposed him a face to face, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater, uncomfortable, put on the spot or, she gradually suspected with time, pretending to be embarrassed. It took her years to comprehend that it was all fake, that he was at the threshold of unleashing his talent and taste for arguing with her and leading her on and out and down and up ¡°I have very low control over my behavior, Ms White¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care. I care about the class and how hard they¡¯ve been working all week and how you¡¯re depriving them of a game¡± ¡°Your games are lame, they all have to do with Geography¡± ¡°But I teach Geography¡± ¡°A movie would be better I think¡± he suggested ¡°Listen to me sweetie, I would LOVE to watch a movie and play Majong on my phone while you all doze off, but no, you have to earn it, you understand?¡± One time, he had stood up to her, asked: ¡°why do we have to learn stupid Geography when we know we will never use it after we graduate?¡± Eugenie had been boiling inside her shoes, inside her head, wanting to strangle him. She suffered the most when students called her subject stupid or useless or her teaching style unsatisfactory. If she never took affronts or provocations or speaking out of turn personally from her adolescents, she had once wept alone for half an hour in the school¡¯s bathroom after overhearing a group of who she thought were some of her favorite girls agreeing with each other that Geography was the second dullest class in the school. Those fucking little bitches. So she had taken a deep breath and replied as calmly as she could, her voice flat, speaking every word clearly : ¡°Why, Barry? Because you picked it as an option for junior year, that¡¯s why you, particularly, have to learn Geography¡± Dumbass. He had repressed a strange and mysterious laughter and tried his best to return to the classroom and behave the rest of the period, two minutes before the bell had rung. Later in the school year, reaching the end of Spring, she had dragged two desks outside her classroom in the hallway, placed two chairs on both sides, assigned a booklet of word search handouts to the group and called the students out one by one to give them a final comment before the year wrapped up. She reached the letter M in her list, sighed, and shouted out: ¡°Barry Masquevert!¡± She heard the chair¡¯s legs scraping the floor inside her classroom and his lazy steps carrying him to her little outside station, his reluctance a masterpiece of theater. His shoe laces were never tied, and she had renounced her initial desire to encourage him to secure them instead of risking falling to his death when he was avalanching downwards in the school stairs, since he always looked at her in return as if she¡¯d said that he should come to class dressed as a dinosaur. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Barry¡± she said ¡°I met your father last night at the conference evening¡± He sat, manspreading on the chair, his hands behind his head, his longer hair, back then, oily, smelling of petrol as he was working a job at the local gas station before and after school. ¡°And?¡± he asked insolently and, she saw, bracing for something he feared under his show of bravado. ¡°Is this a bubble gum in your mouth?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s methamphetamine¡± he replied and, seeing that she was not impressed, he sighed, rolled his eyes and non-enthusiastically reached for a little folded tissue in his pocket to discard his bubble gum, ¡°Ms White, you have no humor. You never laugh or take a joke, you¡¯re always like ¡®stop having fun, students! Be serious, study this map of rivers, be sad for the rest of your lives¡¯ you¡¯re like¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry Barry¡± she smiled, fairly amused by his imitation of her voice and his nominating her as official Party Pooper of the Year, ¡°you seem to never notice it but here, this school, is my workplace, and I am very busy with, like, lesson plans, academics, stuff like that, making sure a bomb doesn¡¯t explode in my room¡± ¡°That sounds boring to me¡± ¡°Well, your uh, input is¡­ uh it exists. Anyway, as I said, I saw your father last night and, apparently, he is the reason why you took Geography as an option. Now it all makes sense, I guess¡± ¡°Well yeah¡­ old dudes always think Geography is important. He says Americans are dumb for thinking Brazil is in South America¡± ¡°Barry, Brazil is in South America¡± she gathered her hands in a prayer, trying to keep her cool, ¡°I¡¯m going to pass you¡± He jumped on his chair, the manspreading gone, his elbows rubbing one against the other, his eyes avid, ¡°what?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to validate your year¡± ¡°But my grades¡­¡± ¡°Are all Fails¡± ¡°And you will pass me¡± he squinted his eyes as if suddenly, they were surrounded by a thick fog and he couldn¡¯t see her very well. ¡°Only if you promise me to take another option for your senior year¡± ¡°Why?¡± when he was under the spell of an emotion, she had noticed, his w sounds had a v accent which she couldn¡¯t place. ¡°Because otherwise I won¡¯t pass you and you¡¯ll have to take Geography again, a senior in my junior class and some extras after school, since your performance is a disaster¡± ¡°No I mean Why? Why would you do such a nice thing?¡± She had looked at him, ¡°for your own sake, Barry, and it is not a nice thing, it is a logical thing, don¡¯t you get it? I will help you stand up to your father, if you need, saying that there is an option that you think is more relevant for your future life¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t talk to my father, I¡¯m not like, five years old, I don¡¯t need a mediator¡± You¡¯re welcome, you fucking ungrateful booger, you piece of gravel stuck in the sole of my shoe, you, the poop that a pigeon dropped on my car¡¯s windshield, which spreads when I activate it, and ruins my impeccable glass. Teenagers didn¡¯t filter their words, most of the time. When you expected a thank you, a little nod of recognition that would have sufficed in front of the tale of kindness being offered, they took offense of the most surprising things and threw the things back in your face very unpleasantly, words cutting like a knife. Like every other time, she could have pointed that out to him, made him think about his interpersonal skills, but she was really concerned about losing the boy¡¯s concentration so she remained on the tracks of their discussion, unphased. ¡°If you pass Geography, your father might be more inclined to let you pick another option next year, don¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°You are trying to get rid of me!¡± It had been her turn to jump on her seat and she had leaned forward closer to him, allowing herself a little demonstration of force, her hands in fists on the desk under his nose : ¡°On which planet do you live, Barry?¡± she struggled against adding some cuss words in her question, ¡°you say I don¡¯t have any humor, well, you don¡¯t have a single memory brain cell in that skull of yours! You make all of us laugh, actually, all of us, but you don¡¯t even pay attention because you¡¯re so self-centered. Your presentation about this cartographer who was actually a butterfly hunter was the best thing we saw all year and later after school I thought again about it and laughed more, and that was the highlight of my day¡± ¡°Humm¡± ¡°What does it mean huumm¡± Eugenie asked, thought: people who are not teachers do not know what patience is, scaffolding of patience, specifically. Maybe hostage negotiators knew it, maybe, bomb disarmers. Perhaps, people who photographed very rare animals and crouched around all day waiting for the perfect shot of an albino bear out of its den. ¡°You¡¯re laughing about me then¡± ¡°Come on! It was truly funny and you have a nice presence on stage, take a compliment!¡± ¡°And yet you gave me a Fail for this presentation¡± he remarked. ¡°Because you didn¡¯t bother to read the requirements so you missed them all. Don¡¯t you understand the words coming out of my mouth? I am saying to you that I enjoy having you with us, all the class enjoys having you¡± He had grunted something back, unconvinced, so she went on : ¡°first of all, no matter how much crap you give me, I always win, so it¡¯s no problem for me¡± ¡°You always win because you report me to the Principal and I get detained, and the only reason is that the Principal backs you up¡± ¡°Exactly¡± ¡°You are a snitch¡± ¡°Yes¡± ¡°Or you call students¡¯ homes and ask parents to confiscate our phones and X-Boxes¡± ¡°Yes. And second of all, we know each other, we have a familiar dynamic and I¡¯m perfectly used to your demonstrations of childish attitude. We can get together to your graduation with a Geography option on your certificate. But it gives me no pleasure seeing you suffer over the map of old USSR, or fall asleep first period because you are not interested¡± ¡°Wow. I never said your class was boring¡± ¡°Barry¡± ¡°What¡± ¡°Excuse me: you said it a thousand times. You said it once while I was observed and evaluated by my Department Head after I had taken you on the side at the start of the lesson and asked you, begged you, lowered myself to your feet to request from you that you behave for just one period¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± he said, confused ¡°I was probably not listening when you were asking me to play nice¡± ¡°That was my guess also. And another time, you said my lesson was boring, Greg recorded it on his phone and posted it on social media. I had to watch you say my class was boring, stupid, and pointless, in a meeting about image privacy and content online, a dozen times, projected on the screen, all my colleagues present¡± He was openly baffled and she watched him work very very hard to try to recollect the memory. ¡°That time¡­ Oh wow, I remember. Sorry¡± he said, slowly understanding her point and feeling slightly remorseful. Was he feeling that though? She would learn to doubt all the things that would come out of his mouth and transpire from his facial expression. Something was telling her that on a game of chess, he would always be ahead of her. She suspected a high level of hidden cleverness in him. But this time again she brushed it off, as she had another half of the group to see alone in the hallway and this was taking ages, ¡°think fast, Barry. What option would you like to take, if you were completely free of choice?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t figure it out you¡¯re going to be a super senior and a duper senior and an ultra senior stuck in Geography and¡± ¡°Computer Science¡± he blurted, then looked at her with real fear in his eyes. She could read something unusual in them, something like ¡®is this the correct answer?¡¯ ¡°Very well!¡± she said, ¡°promise me you will tell you dad you are done with Geography and you will take Computer Science next year, it¡¯s actually across the hallway to my classroom, so you¡¯ll still see me every day¡± He had laughed, bizarrely, relieved to see she wasn¡¯t bluffing, glanced at the door, three rooms down leading to the ICT lab, looked back at her : ¡°you¡¯re not joking. You¡¯re going to pass me if I¡­ change my option?¡± ¡°I had a thought about your question: Why take Geography? And pondered over it and decided that yes, you are right¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You are right. You have better fish to fry than Geography¡± He was shocked : ¡°you said I was right?¡± This young man lives in his own bubble, a bubble of na?vet¨¦, a bubble of pure bullshit, she had thought. ¡°What¡¯s so weird about that? Oh, come on, don¡¯t act so surprised, I¡¯m not a dictator¡± she had said with great seriousness, not giving him an ounce of affection, keeping it all business while she was, internally, quite happy about her little number and the reprieve it was creating in Barry. ¡°You are a very kind uh¡­ very kind lady¡± he said almost reluctantly, running his hand through his dirty hair. Eugenie had kept quiet for a while, stared at him eye to eye, summoning all the coldness she could gather, and replied without a trace of agitation : ¡°this is logic¡± ¡°Have you ever done something like that before?¡± he had wanted to know. She had thought about how to answer him and decided that, with such a volatile element, she would be wiser to keep it honest between them : ¡°No¡± she had replied, unable to look him in the eye. ¡°Now, if you tell anyone about this, I will drag you back to Geography and enroll you into advanced Geology next year and make you study some rocks¡± ¡°Copy that¡± Barry had taken the message and fled from the desk, calling Christine to be the next student to face whatever Ms White had to share. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (16) 2020 Saturday In the middle of the cataclysm that was her apartment, her wrecked book shelves, her crumbled dining room table, the ponds of blood and other suspicious things in which pieces of glass and broken pots bathed, it occurred to Eugenie that modern places of practiced medicine, such as the clinic where she had interned more than fifteen years before, employed teams. Teams versus individuals. Saving a person¡¯s life, providing urgent attention, putting the foundation steps to a healing stairway, all those tasks were titanic for one person alone, one task after the other with no option of taking a break. She had never known exhaustion before that day, before Barry¡¯s thunderous reappearance in her life. She couldn¡¯t feel her shoulders, she couldn¡¯t feel her back, her neck. The tension was too great and some hordes of centipedes had started marching ferociously across the top of her body after her return from her school nursery mission but now, the imaginary insects had gone home and she simply had shattered into pieces and nothingness. She knew that the next step, emerging out of that numbness, she would welcome all sorts of torticoli and tumbago. She was too old for this shit. She glanced at Barry who was, at this moment, unconscious on her floor, his arms and legs stretched nicely and looking like he had just been gently deposited there, his face peaceful. It was possible indeed that sleep rebooted him, because once he faded out, he looked as if he was taking a very pleasant nap. She had cut through the tee-shirt he was wearing under his superhero suit and his skin was covered with blood, a small puddle had formed in the hole where his clavicles met under his chin, trembling with his breath. Something about this vision was heart-wrenching. She felt the need to wash him, get rid of this sticky human juice, clean him and put all the gore dimension of that episode behind them, but she knew she was barely getting started. She granted herself the time to make a cup of double shot espresso, even though she knew she would have to sanitize herself entirely again after that, but the survival of her endeavor depended strongly on her waking state. Sipping quickly through the burning beverage, she raised the pincers in front of her eyes and observed at the little piece of metal she had fished out from Barry. It was vaguely flattened at the front, from the impact, and it had a dull shape, almost cute. She shuddered, horrified at how a tiny thing like this could create such damage in a person, and she didn¡¯t think further: opening her trash bin with her foot, she threw the bullet and the pincers altogether into it. Slammed it shut. She went on and ate the last three chicken nuggets from the plate she had abandoned a few hours earlier when Barry had irrupted on her balcony, but she didn¡¯t sit on the couch. She saw that her salvation, and Barry¡¯s, would come from not allowing herself any comfort, any sheltered moment of pause, not any closing of eyes or shutting away the world. If she sat down, she wouldn¡¯t be able to get back up. She would spring solely from deep-rooted and drilled-over and uninterrupted action, permission to drink and feed for the only purpose of fueling. Eugenie had no choice. Plus, what would a recreation, a collation, a snooze, do to her psyche? Possibly bring her back to a place of forgetting what had just happened to her, what horrors she had agreed to participate in and then, the truth would hit again, with unspeakable cruelty and she would have to begin from scratch again, go through the denial and the acceptance and find her arduous way back into action. She massaged her forehead while she was chewing on the food. Now that her table was no more, she had to think. It was the best time to move Barry out of the living room and into somewhere more hidden. Earth still existed around this ordeal she was trying to work through, and you never knew when someone was going to show up. True, she hadn''t made any plans and she doubted some surprise party would gather at her door, but the building¡¯s handyman on Saturday morning was possible? Someone sent by the landlady to check the parameters of her heater, for instance? A coldness went down her spine, chills the size of lemons. As her hands were now dirty with some nugget breading and she had uncovered her mouth to sip on her coffee, she could take care of some heavy weight dirty work now and clean herself up later. What had he said about his power? Something seemed to regenerate him, while he was abandoned in slumber, he had briefly mentioned, or at least recharge his batteries. Fascinating. Her own batteries were now resurrected too from ingesting the magic coffee potion, so she nodded to herself and got to moving. She ran back to her bedroom and grabbed her cat, planting some little kisses on the top of his sleepy head, and she shoved him delicately inside his carry-on crate, the one she used when she was deep cleaning her house or to go to the cat doctor. She added some treats, a bowl of wet tuna food and some water, his favorite blanket, and she placed the box on the sofa next to the window. Terence was deaf but he had piercing eyes and was particularly fond of night watching. After starting the water kettle, she forgot the beverage half empty ¨Cor full¡ª on top of the commode of the entrance, she rushed to the large drawers that rectangled around her bed frame and gutted them, as she was pretty sure the item she was searching had been purchased and never used, thus stored at the very bottom. Right, she pulled on the malleable material. It was a gigantic laminated picnic table cloth, or grass-cloth, as some people called it. She hovered it under her nose, smelled plastic, then she assaulted her bed, stripped the entire thing and shoved the sheets and pillowcases into the laundry basket. There would be a monster laundry in her near future, that was for sure. Completely boosted by the return of the caffeine in her veins, Eugenie became unstoppable. Stretching her neck and her arms in a way that was going to give her soreness for the next month ¨Cshe should have gone to the gym, she knew it, she should have gone with Sophie when she was going out with that coach guy¡ª, she extended the plastic cover as main bedding, dove inside a comforter wrap and wiggled the comforter inside, a big fluffy blanket, then attributed some new pillowcases. Then dropped the blanket on the floor in a neat pile. She mopped: that was the easy part. A nauseating feeling of anxiety crept back into her in this transition phase. Now that she had been busy with some ordinary house chores, she dreaded returning to the living room where Barry was sleeping. Every time they parted ways in their new unusual dynamics, she feared she¡¯d find him again and dead. Trespassed. She proceeded back to the main area carefully. She checked from the kitchen door that his chest was still rising and falling and there, she encountered a memory about that anecdote from Ram Dass discussing meditation: ¡®it was just a rising feeling and a falling feeling, my breathing, for hours, and I told my guru. He asked me if anything happened during that time, and I said I heard a bird at the very beginning. Then my guru wished to know if I heard that bird during a falling or a rising, and that was his assignment for the day¡¯ Some people were definitely more skilled at making a grand living than she was, she thought bitterly. She tried so hard to be a teacher and, she saw, depressed, she tried so hard to get rid of Barry the teacher way, by motivating him to change options, and now, out of all the things she had done, all that mattered to him was that she had been a nurse. The kettle was whistling, so she poured all its contents into a salad bowl and dried the edges with a rough sponge. Slowly, she knelt next to Barry with the water. She sighed, feeling her heart tighten in her chest. She was still not entirely able to seize the measure of what he had been through, not just today but during the past years. How long had the Bolt been known to be part of the Team? A while, for sure. Perhaps it had originated for him while he was still in high school, and she shivered at the thought. The two radiators cranked at the maximum around Barry had quite a difficult time warming the place up, and his own skin was still covered with jimjams. She couldn¡¯t deal with all that blood anymore so she set out to clean him, but she froze, her sponge suspended above his chest and abdomen. The silence gripped her at the throat and shoulders, she went into apnea. On a rising. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Barry¡± she whispered on a falling, ¡°I¡¯m doing all I can, I promise¡± then her cat meowed from the couch, she lifted her head to face him, on a rising, ¡°I can¡¯t keep Barry all bloody and messy like that¡± she begged him, ¡°it¡¯s a matter of dignity, don¡¯t you think?¡± she asked him. Terence stared back at her with reproach, but she couldn¡¯t let him out, not with all the broken pieces of ceramic and glass on the floor. She lifted Barry¡¯s arm and scrubbed it with the sponge and the hot water, dried it. She thought about her own rising and falling and a cogitative state, became aware of her windows. Who in their right mind would be cleaning what looked like a dead body on a Friday night, in the middle of a destroyed apartment with the lights on while the windows were wide open to the outside eye? Of course, she lived in a terrible neighborhood where murder potentially wasn¡¯t such a big deal, but still! She jumped at the idea and apologized to Terence, as she lowered the metallic shutters opening on the boulevard. She placed the laptop she had left on the coffee table in front of the cat¡¯s crate and started a wildlife documentary, ¡°come on sweetie pie, you can¡¯t spy on the street tonight, watch this instead, you know, you will love it, it has lots of birds in it¡± Out of all the documentaries she had watched or shown to her class, her favorite ones were the ones beautifully narrated by Sir David Attenborough. She let her chest rise and fall in the stillness, closing her eyes at his opening statement, ¡®If we don¡¯t teach our children to appreciate Ea-hearth¡¯ he said, ¡®they won¡¯t see the importance of it, they won¡¯t want to protect it¡¯ Then he proceeded to explain, in an absurdly soothing manner, how perilous the gnus crossing of the river during their migration was due to the large number of starving alligators swimming near the surface. ¡®A mighty crowd greeted by an audience of empty stomachs and mouths equipped with some pretty sharp teeth¡¯ he states. She began to speak out loud too, ¡°why do nature documentaries always show that damn scene of the gnus crossing the river¡± she asked Barry, rinsed the front of his chest, rubbed the caked blood under his chin vigorously, hoping that he would wake up and be in agreement with this. He remained asleep, in a way, peacefully asleep, as if the dialogue between Eugenie and Attenborough was some kind of slam nursery rhyme, ¡°and then, you¡¯ve got the mama cheetah and her hungry cubs¡± she sighed, ¡°hey, we get it, predators have to feed too¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°It cannot be worse than the scene of the orcas playing with a seal before eating it, Barry, I¡¯ve seen that on the big screen at the cinema¡± she described to him, back and forth between the living room and the bathroom, busy with her sanitizer, disinfecting her fingers, washing her face, putting back her gloves, ¡°it was Our Blue Planet, and let me tell you, when you see that hunt on Imax, you¡ª¡± she glanced down at him, making sure he was still out, ¡°I mean you¡¯re never the same afterwards¡± Why the fuck did I go see Our Blue Planet on Imax and with whom? She thought, perturbed, amnesic. She dug inside the bag from school, produced her spool of threads, squinted at it through the needle, then leaned over him again, ¡°I mean, animals can be sadistic too¡± she said, realized she was herself armed with some pretty sharp tools on top of Barry, cleared her throat nervously. ¡°I think in the first episode of this show¡± she was now talking over Attenborough, as she had played the series many times, ¡°the best part is the apes, oh my god¡± she was also talking over the disgusting sound that scratching off some dead or gangrenous skin around a bullet wound was making with a dull-ish scalpel, ¡°they look so much like us, Barry, you know, it¡¯s freaky. Especially Bonobos, they are from the Congo¡± Which Congo? The voice asked her. She couldn¡¯t remember which Congo. She was a Geography teacher and she couldn¡¯t remember if the animals came from the Democratic Republic of Congo or from Congo Brazzaville. Such a teacher you are, she heard, raising the thread high in the air to unroll the spool and prepare a large enough length, he¡¯s going to die from boredom if not from getting gunned down, and the feeling was quite familiar from the one they had shared between the school walls, so she did her best to chase the thought away, did her best to focus on some pretty precise stitching. On the laptop, a small but fiery group of elephants charged and trumpeted and the sound startled her. She jumped on her butt and went too far with the needle, ¡°oh SHIT oh my god, oh m¡ª¡± she pulled on the string and went sideways, ¡°SHIT¡± there was nothing she could do except making things worse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Barry¡± Eugenie whimpered, ¡°the elephants¡­ the fucking elephants¡± She hurried to finish this task, attempted to make up for her terrible job by cutting a very straight square of band-aid, soaked it with sterilizing spray and rolled him in some thick bandages. She was sweating profusely but she completed her job before a drop of perspiration detached from the tip of her nose beyond the mask. All good. She wiped it, replaced the mask with a drier one. In the outside pockets of her bag she found the bottle of penicillin she had stolen from the infirmary. She made sure she paused the documentary when she injected him with it, and then closed up the holes on his arm, impressed by neatness of the entry and exit it had suffered. ¡°Jesus¡± she trembled, ¡°so scary¡± Who were those robots Barry had said had shot him? They were not from Russia, he had said, they were from outer worlds. She must have not understood well, she shook her head, lifted his arm to wash it clean with the water. Much better, she admired her work. Such a nurse you are, except for this small butchery on Barry¡¯s stomach. Eugenie listened to the end of the episode in order to collect herself, and it was when the story was closing with the beautiful moment a young female turtle reached her breeding grounds for the first time after being at sea for three years. How would an animal that was no fish, Eugenie thought, an organism who needed the air of Earth to breathe, be drawn to the water this way? They could hold their breaths in the water, and they slept in the water, but they always had to go back to the surface to stay alive. Goosebumps. Goosebumps cause what? ¡®Cause the three year-old turtle, now one meter of length, traveled and dodged shark¡¯s traps on the way. Goosebumps cause? ¡®Cause when stars died in space, they produced the same minerals as her shell, her safe refuge, in which she would retreat in the absence of hiding spot between sea rocks or coral, justifying why she returned to breeding grounds ¨Ciron, out of all metals¡ªonce her adult age reached, and knew exactly where those grounds were located. Extinguished stardust powered turtles, when nuclear fusions creating heavier galaxies couldn¡¯t function anymore and relegated themselves to simple iron dictating molecular paths into a living animal. Doomed star and ringing ear straightened Eugenie¡¯s back. She dried him with her biggest bathroom towel, added it to the laundry pile which was now sticking out of the basket, so she looked for an equally enormous garbage bag to create a new pile, was surprised to find her leftover coffee from earlier on top of her corridor shelves, ¡°here you are! I was already feeling drowsy again¡± Terence had fallen asleep in front of the second episode of the series, this one taking place in the Arctic. Everyone was sleeping, except for her. ¡®Narwhals use their front horns to dig through the ice during the cold season, and it also serves as a weapon¡¯ Attenborough continued. ¡°You remember when Marge said narwhals were unicorns¡± she asked Barry ¡°by the way, now would be a good time to wake up¡± She stayed motionless at his side, breathing deeply through her facemask, wrinkling the clothes she had brought between her fingers. She couldn¡¯t just leave him like this, looking like he had been found in a bin, his suit pants smelling of dried blood and dirty water from the sewers. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Barry, I will be so quick, just like you are, I mean, like you are normally¡± Eugenie saw that she wasn¡¯t able to enjoy pondering things anymore, in this new order of things, ¡°just like the Bolt¡± she pulled strongly at the bottom of his trousers and slid them away, pretended she didn¡¯t notice that he was wearing some ridiculous Iron Man shorts underneath and, without wasting any second, wriggled him inside very large sweatpants that she had purchased the wrong size for herself ages ago and kept for days when she felt like an old fat potato. ¡°See?¡± she sat up, out of breath, dizzy, completely traumatized, ¡°splendid! So clean¡± The walls were dancing around her, spinning. ¡®Polar bea-ears¡¯ Attenborough was vibing into the story with his deep and quavering voice, ¡®do not hibernate, on the contrary, they thrive in the wintertime¡¯ Eugenie finished her coffee, her eyes sliding back and forth from the sweatshirt on her lap to Barry in the middle of the broken table pieces. She couldn¡¯t see a way to dress him with it so she switched gears, paced rapidly to the bedroom again, spread the cardigan open on the bed, and decided that it was time to move Barry before anything else. For good, then, she¡¯d be able to tidy all the destruction from the main space of her home, release her cat and.. she wondered, what next? The vertigo possessed her head once more. She was starting to slow down again, to fall prey to some thinking about the future, some anxiety, some disturbing unknowns, so she pressed the buttons on her coffee machine, added two sugar cubes at the bottom of her mug, watched the smoke rise. The beginning of her plan was not complicated: Barry was lying on top of one table cloth, the one that had been sitting on her table before it collapsed, and she desired to move him to another table cloth, this time, the plasticky one she had extended over her bed. She used her feet to clear the debris around the scene and made her first attempt, grabbed the fabric with both hands and pulled as strongly as she could. It was sliding, alright! ¡®Feeding frenzy ensues at the arrival of the sardines¡¯ she heard from the documentary, oh my god, already episode three, ¡®joined by sharks, dolphins, cormorant and even one journeying beluga, it barely depletes their population, and some think that the voyage doesn¡¯t include an objective pertinent to the survival of the sardines, only from an ancient time where it might have been. Solely remains, nowadays, the instinct to take the trip and provide nourishment, incidentally, to all the marine creatures on the path¡¯ ¡°What a great narrator he is¡± Eugenie commented to Barry while on their own journey through the narrow entrance corridor. She took a small break halfway there, sweating heavily, hyperventilating. There was a feeling floating inside her chest that, once Barry was there, in the bedroom that had been hers until yesterday, there would truly be no turning back. She was hiding him in the depths of her flat, in the most profound corner of her life. ¡°People loved Morgan Freeman in the penguin movie, and I agree, don¡¯t get me wrong¡± she bent forward and continued her tugging and pulling, ¡°but Attenborough is next level, I think¡± Just under her head as she was inserting him through the bedroom door, Barry opened his yes, ¡°Attenwhat?¡± he asked, and she lost her grip as well as her footing. Eugenie gasped and fell backwards, this time against the stool on which was sitting her old vinyl player, which got knocked over too in a great cacophonous crash. ¡°BARRY¡± she moaned and groaned, fed up with all the crashing and breaking, ¡°you¡¯re¡­¡± you¡¯re a monster, ¡°awake, NO, don¡¯t move, I just patched you up PLEASE¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorryy¡± he squealed, horrified, ¡°I¡¯m going to¡ª¡± he rose on his elbows, bit his lips as something filled up his cheeks. ¡°NO nonono WAIT¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to be sick¡± she saw him sit up, jerked upwards by the nausea, a flower of blood opening on his stomach under the rolls of bandages. ¡°Nooo I just d WAIT NOT ON THE PANTS¡± she pounced on top of him and took hold of his shoulders, spun him on his butt before he expelled all the vomit in his mouth. Miraculously, she was successful, as the liquidy chunky mix missed his new trousers and spread around the broken morsels of her music player. ¡°Phew¡± she exhaled heavily, holding him through the shakes that followed ¡°that was close¡± ¡°Wh¡­ what pants¡± he spat out one last bubble, his breath whistling like a tired bagpipe at an Irish concert. ¡°It¡¯s not important, here, take this¡± she handed him the rag from her pocket, kept him sitting up with his back against her knees, ¡°you¡¯re feeling better?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ feeling kinda weird¡± ¡°Kinda weird¡± she repeated and clicked her tongue ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry¡± he sniffled loudly ¡°I keep making so much mess¡± ¡°Hey, that¡¯s okay, now, look, you¡¯re sitting up, that¡¯s good¡± ¡°I can¡¯t hold that position much l--¡± ¡°Cause I want to put you on this bed, you see it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ cold¡± he shivered. ¡°Uuuugh Barry you have so many needs¡ª HERE¡± Eugenie launched herself towards the bed while preserving her hold of Barry, managed to get her foot into some sticky vomit on the floor, ¡°hhmf¡± she grunted ¡°look, this sweatshirt, it¡¯s for you, you can put it on¡± He finally folded forward and freed her from his weight, landed his hand in the vomit too, hooked his other hand on his stomach, ¡°just give me a min¡­ minute¡± ¡°One thing at a time¡± she said encouragingly, such a teacher you are, ¡°here, see the sleeve, put your hand there¡± she guided him from behind him as if she was a marionettist, trying to ignore the puddle of puke in which they were operating ¡°and now the other hand¡± ¡°It huurts, ohmygod it hu¡ª¡± ¡°One thing at a time¡± she implored him ¡°come on, you gotta help me help you¡± That was such a teacher thing to say. ¡°That¡¯s such a teacher thing to say¡± ¡°Shut up Barry¡± she chuckled, as the desire to strangle him was restored from the years passed, intact, inside her heart, ¡°ready? I¡¯m going to lift you, and you¡¯re going to push on your feet, then your legs, it¡¯ll be quick¡± He raised his head to plunge his eyes into hers as her face was hanging on top of him, her hands under his arms, ¡°did you.. change my clothes?¡± PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (17) 2015 ¨C Barry¡¯s twelfth grade His last year of secondary school, it had then been the first time Barry was not among Eugenie¡¯s students in Geography class, although he was quickly replaced by a new generation of Freshmen and option-taking Junior disturbers of peace, inspired to rise to his level. And weirdly, she had observed, finding it an enigma, it had been as if he had done all he could to still remind her of his existence at school. In the way of tribulations and misadventures, in a painful way. More than once, he had passed the threshold of her classroom at the bell and sat down in the front row, equipped himself with a pen and a notebook and, seeing her staring at him with confusion, had facepalmed himself : ¡°Oh LORD! I forgot I¡¯m NOT taking Geography anymore!¡± leaving the room with some of his best comments, such as the memorable: ¡°enjoy wanting to hang yourselves memorizing the different types of migrations, suckers!¡± That seemed to be Barry¡¯s gratitude for the gesture she had offered him the year before when she passed him for her class to release him and open his academic horizon. Even if she tried to persuade herself that he wasn¡¯t bothering her more than another lambda deranged student would, she had to admit that he did. He was slightly more than just an annoying kid in a sea of other annoying kids, and it sort of fascinated her to be the witness of all his effort to run her patience dry without attending her lessons. From experience, she guessed that she must be one of his favorite staff members to bugger. Some students were like that, after all, so easily bored that they would come up with anything to trigger distraction within their school day. When she was patrolling the corridor on supervision duty, if he saw her walk near, Barry would suddenly pretend he was in a fight, push another guy against the lockers, raising his voice. Even his classmates thought that was bizarre and he was a bit unscrewed, the result being that one of his attributes ¨Camong many¡ª quickly became the one of Douchebag Barry, or later on, close to his completion of secondary school, Douchebarry. Other times, he was alone, pacing and, running into her, made a point to whip out his cell phone from his pocket, forcing her to stop, roll her eyes, and get into arguments with him. ¡°But Ms White, this anti-cell phone policy is stupid¡± that was his favorite word after he had been detained enough times to stop using the term retarded, ¡°what if something happens at home and our family tries to reach us, like, an emergency?¡± ¡°Oh my god, Barry, I don¡¯t know, how do you think we did it back in my days in high school when we didn¡¯t have cell phones?¡± ¡°Ah, yes, I forgot you told us a hundred times you grew up in a third-world country¡± ¡°It was Sweden¡± she corrected him. He had stared back at her, sincerely puzzled by the question. ¡°So let me describe it to you¡± she granted herself that small wooden baton de parole, ¡°Back then, in the 90¡¯s, there was an idea that materialized into the brains of some parents or guardians or relatives who wanted to reach their kids at school, and it was ba-na-nas. Listen to me: they would call the secretary of the school from their landline inside the house, I know, that¡¯s crazy, and then they would say the name of a student, right? And then someone would walk to the classroom to fetch the student from their lesson to come to the phone in the office or get picked up¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were that old, Ms White¡± ¡°Sometimes I think you miss me punishing you¡± Eugenie would forever remember this moment with an ache. The wooden baton de parole had overgrown into a tree too big for her heart to contain, she guessed, and the words had been blurted out of her true self, without care, without caution. She had plainly snapped at him with this comment, and immediately regretted it. Sometimes I think you miss me punishing you. Insanity. Everyone who worked at secondary level of school knew that the words like and punishing should only be paired if you were ready to face the worst backlash. Barry, receiving this gift openly, had brought his hands to his mouth in feigned great shock while real and gargantuan satisfaction was reaching his eyes. His job was done. All the students around started screeching and squealing like the savage monkeys they were and Eugenie realized her mistake and public humiliation too late, watched Barry slowly walk backwards through the crowd, his arms outstretched in victory and dropping a fictitious microphone. Working with adolescents usually forced you to acquire a mind that was constantly in the gutter in order to anticipate the next thing you were going to say and remain in the safe zone so as to avoid a riot but, this time, she had not been fast enough. It was sealed. All the students in the school now laughed about the fact that the Geography teacher had asked another student if he missed being punished by her, some of them whispered in each other¡¯s ears and giggled when she walked past them or during class, and her colleagues in the photocopy room had looked at her with a bit of disdain or, worse, pity, for about a month. There had been an anonymous piece of art left taped on her classroom door, a pupil who had drawn her with Barry on her lap, spanking his butt, with the caption ¡®U missed this didnt U¡¯ under it and, for some reason the addition of a little penis in the corner of the A4 paper. There was nothing else to do in those moments of solitude but to accept your fate and patiently wait for it to be over, so she did, kept marching down the hallways, penalizing Barry with regular detentions and confiscations, and greeting him the next day like nothing was wrong. She wanted to stick her middle finger at him and the rest of them so badly, but she didn¡¯t, and she kept her head high, kept teaching Geography. She was a fucking professional. He had often sat with her on her supervision bench while she was on canteen duty, bringing his little cup of cottage cheese with him. ¡°Ms White, do you think Stanley is hot?¡± Stanley, the captain of the school¡¯s volleyball team and a very kind, polite, adorable, studious teenager, had been sitting two meters away and the whole table had turned towards her and Barry, waiting for her answer, munching on some crackers or baby carrots like a bunch of cows watching the trains pass. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. She would not fall into his imbecile trap this time, or never again ever. ¡°Okay, Barry, see, I cannot answer this question. On one hand, if I say that I think poor Stanley here, whom you picked on while he hasn¡¯t done a thing to you, is hot, then I will probably get fired¡± ¡°So you think he¡¯s not hot¡± The faces at Stanley¡¯s table were mortified, and Stanley staring at Barry like he was going to stick his plastic fork in his neck. ¡°And then, on the other hand, if I say, to cover my safety, that I think Stanley is not hot, then I take the risk for an adolescent to believe, because you are all dramatic empty coconuts here, that a teacher thinks he is an ugly-looking individual, so I don¡¯t want that either¡± ¡°You think he¡¯s hot, then?¡± She had sighed, tired, unwilling to negotiate ¨Cthose were real days, and students never wondered if perhaps, sometimes, an adult working at the school just wanted to wrap up the day and get home and get paid, of course, they never wondered that, selfish as they were¡ª and gotten up and off the bench to join Stanley¡¯s table, where an audience of suspended and unsure looks greeted her. ¡°Please, take me away from Barry Masquevert, guys¡± she had asked Stanley¡¯s crowd, ¡°tell me how volleyball is going this Spring¡± On the same bench at the cafeteria, Barry kept seating next to her with his little dessert, apple sauce or cheese sticks, and pestering her with some questions that, either had popped randomly in his head at the very instant or, second option, questions he had spent an extensive amount of time preparing. Eugenie could not, for the life of her, decide which was the case. ¡°Ms White, why are you the only teacher who doesn¡¯t have a problem with students¡¯ PDA in the corridor?¡± he had asked with a little finger on his lip, suspicious. Accusatory, already. It was true, she saw, and she had felt in the mood to place some truths in his hands that day. Every person working at a school secretly had one or two of the policies in the rule book that they didn¡¯t entirely believe in and for her, Public Displays of Affection were something she didn¡¯t trust should be forced to stop or reprimanded. In senior year, she had been able to count seven or eight girls that Barry had ¡®dated¡¯, or just made out with in the corridor, and God only knew how many more had been seduced by him outside of her field of observation. If she surveilled near him and his last conquest, he would immediately stick his tongue in the girl¡¯s mouth and go into a passionate embrace, but she didn¡¯t bat an eye. She would just go on walking by them, like she did the other young couples, and she would smile inside, a little uncomplicated smile. It was difficult for Eugenie to enforce regulating the manifestation of young love, remembering herself that she had been so in love with so and so in her own ancient timeline, something special, your first feelings, your first butterflies, your first kisses, and it was the reason she couldn¡¯t bring herself to chastise it. ¡°You have some lettuce in your teeth¡± she replied to him that day. ¡°Nice try, but I haven¡¯t eaten a single green vegetable for two years¡± he laughed, ¡°so, why do you let us French kiss in the hallway?¡± Once more, because in the end, she nurtured the goal to turn his tormenting of her into educational moments just to piss him off, she had opted for honesty : ¡°I guess, I don¡¯t hate seeing my students being in love. It¡¯s a nice thing¡± ¡°We are not in love. We are horny. We are hormonal machines and all we think about is fu--¡± She had raised, very sharply, a finger in the air in front of his face to prevent him from using profanity on school grounds, although she was a fan of foul language herself in her private life, ¡°¡­ all we think about is sex¡± he adjusted his sentence. ¡°It is whatever you say, Barry¡± ¡°It makes you nostalgic because you¡¯re old and you like to reminisce about your high school boyfriends?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have any boyfriend in high school¡± she lied, ¡°I was too focused on my studies¡± ¡°So you¡¯re, like, one of those people who just uh, like, love love, or something?¡± ¡°Yes¡± she had answered, pleased, unsuspecting, glad that he had enough synapses awake that day to understand her. ¡°It turns you on?¡± ¡°BARRY GET OUT OF MY SIGHT¡± At the beginning of one Freshman Geography I lesson, he had walked into her classroom and leaned over above her desk, trying to catch her attention while she was ending an email on the computer. She made a point to ignore him for as long as she could, opening another email and getting ready to answer it so his waiting time would be extended, before she realized the whole group had gone quiet. Those were the youngest high-schoolers, easily impressed, eager for any recreation the day would provide them between unbearable academics, and they were waiting, indeed, in total silence, their buckets of popcorn at the ready. Barry had created the stage that he so desired. ¡°Good morning Barry¡± she had said, preparing for the worst ¡°if you have a question, can you make it quick? We are already behind schedule¡± He had cleared his throat, awkwardly, shyly, a true born actor ¡°Uh¡­ I was wondering if¡­ Gosh, your hair is turning a little grey, Ms White!¡± ¡°This is all because of you and the stress you¡¯re inflicting on me, now, ask your question please, quick¡± ¡°Uh¡­ You guys are going on the Fondue Geo Night this month like every year¡± ¡°Yes. Awww, you remember that, Barry, I¡¯m flattered!¡± ¡°I was uh¡­ hum¡± he looked at his feet, then back at her ¡°wondering if I could join¡± ¡°But you¡¯re not in Geography class anymore¡± ¡°Yes but¡­ I miss those events, you know, fondue and Geo trivia questions¡± ¡°You do, oh my god that¡¯s so sweet¡± she had melted, very much like the fondue cheese itself and moved to her core and, for a second, feeling immensely bad that she had not thought before about opening the trip to students outside of the Geography option. ¡°Of course, you can, darling, I will add your name to the reserv--¡± ¡°Got you!¡± he yelled, hitting his thigh with his hand and bursting into laughter, that kind of laughter when he would open his mouth wide and no sound would be coming out of it ¡°Ms White, you really thought anyone would go to your Geo trivia cheese evening willingly, if it was not for the extra credit? Like, counting points for questions about the climate of Patagonia or tectonic plates! Enjoy, LOSERS!¡± he had darted out of the room early enough to not miss his next class before the second bell rang. The Freshmen were petrified by what they had witnessed, not daring to move or laugh yet, and Eugenie had granted herself an extra minute of staring blankly at the spot where Barry had been before launching her lesson. Eventually, she had looked down at the pen in her hand and dreamed about sticking it into Barry¡¯s throat just like Stanley had fantasized to do with his little plastic fork. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (18) 2020 Saturday ¡°When I thought I¡¯d come to your place for help¡± Barry said, ¡°I had no idea you¡¯d have to do all those things¡± ¡°Why am I not surprised¡± ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean¡± ¡°It means¡± she leaned over him on the bed, clearing all the vomit from his skin, ¡°give me your hand¡± she was very impressed with her picnic tablecloth inspiration, as it was very easy to wash. She rubbed his sticky fingers in a smaller towel, placed it back to his side gently, ¡°it means sometimes you act very¡± stupidly, idiotically, foolishly, erratically, ¡°spontaneously indeed¡± He smiled faintly, completely discomfited in the middle of the large pillow. And yet he had a slight look of satisfaction on his face that she recognized very well, ¡°and then what?¡± ¡°Then¡± A touch of excitement dropped inside her lonely heart, to be able to recount the details of her recent actions with someone, even if it was Barry. That new job of hers was crippled by solitude, ¡°I found your medical file at school, it helped a lot¡± ¡°I have a file?¡± ¡°From your vaccinations, remember? And from being a pain in my ass¡± ¡°That¡¯s not med medical¡± ¡°I would argue that it is a disease¡± she found the banter not to her dislike, for once, and a nice distraction, now that teaching him Geography wasn¡¯t at stake. ¡°Now, take a deep breath¡± she went into the process of cleaning the hole on his stomach again. He swallowed hard and clung to the bed, tried to keep his eyes on the ceiling, ¡°you better get used to it¡± she said softly, ¡°I¡¯m going to have to do this every day¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidd¡ª¡± ¡°Sometimes twice a day¡± He closed his eyes, munched on something invisible in his mouth, ¡°when you were at school did you rr run into some p p painkillers by any chance?¡± ¡°Listen¡± she wrapped him into some fresh strips of sponge like a sushi, knowing the day would come when he¡¯d see the massacre she had created while stitching him, ¡°I located some relaxant. The painkillers we have at school are not very good for your uh situation, so I think this will help you more, it¡¯ll help you sleep¡± At last she zipped him up, padded the cushion under his head to give it volume, ¡°I¡¯ll get it now, we will try it¡± She got up but he snatched her hand, again, as when he had ejected her against the wall earlier, with surprising strength. He held on it tightly, ¡°wait, stay, just.. a second¡± She sat next to him again, ¡°what is it Barry¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­ destroyed everything in your house¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, those are just¡­ things¡± Strangely, she meant it. ¡°And that.. I was so.. difficult at school¡± ¡°Difficult¡± she chuckled inside her nose ¡°Impossible, so¡­ terrible¡± ¡°You mean unhinged¡± ¡°I mean unhinged¡± he grimaced, from the pain in his body or the accuracy of the memory, she couldn¡¯t tell. Eugenie shook her head, sighed loudly, pinched the bridge of her nose, ¡°you know what Barry¡± ¡°What¡± She couldn¡¯t find the words, as somewhere, she felt the urge to say, I can¡¯t believe you might have gone through this mutant crap transformation on your own, so young, and no one knew, and more, I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t see what was happening, I didn¡¯t guess, I didn¡¯t help you. And then, the one that weighed the most in her chest, I¡¯m so sorry I kicked you out of my class, I just didn¡¯t have the energy to deal with your bullshit anymore, but I was the grown up, I should have been a better person, I should have cared more about you than about me. ¡°What¡± he insisted, his eyelids fluttering like the wings of a dragonfly. His grip loosened on her hand, as he was on the verge of dozing off again. ¡°Youu¡­ can totally make up for it now¡± she said warmly, ¡°by doing everything I say¡± PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (19) 2015 ¨C Barry¡¯s twelfth grade One time, on Halloween day, with everyone dressed up, the girls as sexy versions of any female character or celebrity imaginable, the guys more into goof, she had reached the armoire at the end of a lesson to bring a specific map of Oceania back to the front of the classroom. As she opened the door, Barry had jumped from inside, dressed as the killer from the Scream movies, Ghostface, and she had fallen on her butt in front of all the class, almost dying of a heart attack and the witch hat she was wearing knocked off her head when she hit it on the corner of a desk. He had peed his pants laughing but, removing his mask, he had grimaced with concern seeing her on the floor with her face pale and her horrified eyes. ¡°Oh my God Ms White!¡± he extended his hand to help her get up, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to make you fall! You¡¯re ok?¡± ¡°You¡¯re¡­ supposed to be in Computer Science class, Barry!¡± ¡°I know¡± he found that particular part of his scheme hilarious, ¡°I skipped the whole period waiting for you to open that armoire¡± In the end, they had all laughed, that day and, for his devotion, Barry had even received a round of applause, which Eugenie had timidly followed. Then someone shouted : ¡°Oh Lord! The teacher¡¯s head is bleeding!¡± She had had to go to the hospital to get her scalp stitched from the incident, a very minor and dull task for the doctor who had completed it but, because it was her head she had hit, she had been obligated to stay in for the night to make sure she didn¡¯t have a concussion. She had sat there, in her bed, feeling completely healthy, wishing she was home with her cat, wondering if Terence thought she had moved away and abandoned him. And she thought about her life that night. Her divorce, her students, the plans she had made when she was her students¡¯ age and the dreams she had left unfulfilled with time passing and, because it had been a long day and she was frustrated, tired, she had started crying, silently, by herself, until she finally fell asleep. In the morning, she brushed her teeth, got dressed, and fled from the place. All the results were solid in her tests and her brain was intact, so she wished all the staff a very nice day and hurried to exit the building and drive back to her cat, take a nice hot shower, forget about school, about students, about the hospital, and binge watch something on Netflix, either a documentary about some conspiracies or a love story happening in some royal family. Barry was sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot with a bouquet of daisies and what seemed to be grass in his hand. In his other hand, he had the witch hat Eugenie had lost in the commotion of the previous day. Eugenie fell prey to despair a little deeper inside her being. Was it definitely too much to ask to just be left alone, and live a drama-free existence, where students like Barry would not intrude? A small curiosity lingered in her heart, although the dominant feeling was the unwillingness to spend the energy finding out what this new Barry shit show was all about. And yet something in Barry¡¯s face was different, he was not smiling or parading, his usually very dynamic and tossed-around hair was flat, disciplined, and it looked like he was wearing an ironed shirt. ¡°What are you doing here, Barry?¡± Muscle memory, your teacher¡¯s tone, interested, she thought, your muscle memory, your eyes, interrogative, open. What a profession, it occurred to her. What a random sisyphesque job. ¡°I¡¯m not skipping class, if that¡¯s what you want to know¡± She looked at her watch, ¡°I think you are skipping class, at this hour¡± ¡°Is your head okay?¡± he asked with the hopelessness in his eyes so real it pained her for a second, before she remembered he was the cause of her having wasted an entire day and night sleeping in a hard, back-breaking hospital bed in a room smelling of terrible disgusting hospital smells. ¡°Of course, my head is fine! It was just a little hit, Barry¡± ¡°Does it hurt?¡± ¡°No, really, I didn¡¯t feel a thing¡± It was true. Her back, however, was killing her after waking up on that atrocious mattress. ¡°You¡¯re going to have a scar for the rest of your life?¡± She shook her head, thinking about it ¡°probably not. I really doubt it. It¡¯s all under my hair anyway so there isn¡ª¡± ¡°I am SO SORRY¡± he interrupted and exclaimed passionately, like he had been waiting for this moment for hours ¨Cwhich was probably the case¡ª aiming at one of her hands to land the hat in it, which she dusted, a bit unsure, ¡°it was a stupid joke, and I understand if you are angry at me and¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not angry at you, come on, you silly goose, on which planet do you live?¡± she said warmly, really wondering if it was grass that he had picked up to mix with the daisies and as she noticed, oh, one very deflated dandelion on the side of the bouquet, a leaf fallen from a tree on the other side, something that looked like an actual branch or, perhaps, an iron picket from a fence, ¡°it was a prank, and an accident, come on Barry, cheer up!¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°I got expelled for one day¡± he shrugged with great somberness. ¡°Well, you did create a hazardous situation¡± ¡°I did¡­ I feel terrible, for your head¡± ¡°WHAT COME ON¡± keep your cool, she encouraged herself, don¡¯t raise your voice. ¡°Barry, my head is all good! In which language do you want me to say this to you?¡± ¡°In Swiss language¡± he said, inspired, looking in the distance, ¡°since you grew up in Switzerland¡± ¡°It was Sweden. Barry, stop speaking like a crazy person, the is NOTHING wrong with my head¡± she repeated, eager to bring closure to this episode and finally be able to go home, and rejoice in the fact that this deplorable event was forever in the past. ¡°It was nothing! It¡¯s just protocol that the clinic keeps patient who hit their heads, that¡¯s all, and it¡¯s all completed now, and I¡¯d like to go home¡± ¡°Just so you know, I¡¯m planning to burn this Halloween costume I wore to scare you, and sing a litany when I do¡± ¡°Ghostface?¡± ¡°What Who?¡± ¡°Ghostface¡± she repeated, ¡°that¡¯s the name of the killer who puts on that mask, you know, in the Scream movies¡± ¡°There is a movie called Scream?¡± She squinted at him, wondering why anything existed on Earth, ¡°yeah, an¡­ old movie¡± she reluctantly said, ¡°a killer who¡ª nevermind that¡¯s¡­ lovely, burning it all, you know, lovely idea, very cathartic¡± she supposed ¡°very creative. Although you could keep the costume, I mean, it¡¯s pretty good and scary for Halloween¡± ¡°Maybe even recite all the important cities of Martinique in your tribute¡± ¡°Wow, look at you, being so full of ideas¡± She had watched the first and second and even third Scream volumes at the movie theater, attending those iconic horror events with her little high school girlfriends, while Barry was busy not being born, probably not even being an idea in his parents¡¯ heads. Now, her own head was starting to hurt for real, but not from getting banged on a table, no, it was a possible true headache, maybe even the beginning of a migraine. It was all him. Plenty more gray hair would follow. ¡°I wish I had memorized the poem I wrote to you my first year, you remember?¡± ¡°Ah yeah¡± she hesitated, challenged to locate the memory, so she lied ¡°I remember, that would be appropriate¡± She had the hazy feeling it might have been about volcanoes, though, and awful. ¡°Oh my god, there was blood everywhere¡± he continued, unstoppable ¡°I scarred all the Freshmen students for life¡± ¡°There was literally like, two drops, and there isn¡¯t even blood on my shirt, look¡± she showed him, pulling on the blouse she had been wearing and slipped back into, on the way out of her observation room ¡°and those Freshmen are totally desensitized to violence¡± ¡°Still¡± he insisted ¡°I know what I did was bad¡± ¡°Come on, Barry, enough with this negativity! Can you just stop thinking about it, this is not the end of the world! No one got hurt and¡ª¡± ¡°You got hurt¡± ¡°I mean, like, hurt hurt. The school didn¡¯t burn down, no one died, I got a day off, you got a day off too, actually, so come on!¡± He thought about it for a very long time, which made Eugenie wonder if he was daydreaming or reflecting on his actions, or if she had lost his attention altogether. Finally, he nodded gravely, accepting her invitation to move on. ¡°So you got like, free food or whatever in there?¡± ¡°Yes. Free food, yaaay¡± she thought back about the slimy breakfast puree and soft slice of bread and tepid artificially sweetened cup of tea she had been forced to ingest to be allowed to leave. It was all him. Grey hair, separation anxiety on her cat, back pain, disgusting food, all him. All Barry. The source of all evils. ¡°Did you see any mad things in there?¡± ¡°Mad things?¡± ¡°Like, someone died while you hung out there in the hospital?¡± ¡°Sweetie, just give me the flowers and go do something nice, like, I don¡¯t know, go eat some donuts or go put-putting, go to the arcade¡± She was a hundred percent certain that Barry had been about to tell her that the flowers were actually just happening to be there but not related to her situation, either destined to his grandma or his girlfriend but, she saw, something flashed in his eye at the last second and he appeared to decide against one last joke so, she guessed, he must truly have felt bad for the whole ordeal, after all. With great ceremony, he handed her the very sad bouquet and she smiled as brightly as she could : ¡°wow, this is beau-ti-ful, behold this! I¡¯m going to put it in a vase when I get home. I¡¯m going to take a picture of it and post it on Facebook¡± she lied. This is going to the trash bin. She might even open her car window on the drive back and ditch it on the side of the road. A small revenge. ¡°Do you want to take a selfie together with it?¡± NO I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ¡°Well¡­¡± please, Lord, shut him up, let me drive away from this place, she implored the heavens, ¡°that wouldn¡¯t be very ethical you know, as a teacher, if I published a photo of a student from my school on social media¡± ¡°No I mean, just as a souvenir, for you¡± I wish you got struck by lightning right now, she prayed, and forgave herself for her harshness. She was sleep deprived and a little depressed and her neck hurt because she was almost thirty-four and because of the horrendous mattress she had spent the night on, ¡°Barry, thank you for the visit, and the lovely uh¡­ bouquet, and goodbye, okay? See you tomorrow at school, alright?¡± Barry nodded again, very happy with himself, proud of his arrangements of wild flowers, and extended his arms for a hug. Cringing inside, wishing she could disappear into a hole, Eugenie went in and let him hug her. For once, he didn¡¯t smell like gasoline or marijuana, but of fresh soap. And grass. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (20) 2020 Saturday The red color that was entering laboriously under his eyelids was warm and brought some strange dancing letters. It was frequent that Barry dreamed of those letters and, with George, they had tried some hypnotherapy to fill the dull hours between missions, attempted to retrieve memories of those mysterious letters and see if they formed words. The enigma was still ongoing. Barry suspected his friend, the famous Robortor, to have synesthesia, meaning, when senses overlapped. George, as his real name was, had sometimes mentioned that in his mind, numbers had colors and calendars shapes, steps like a flight of stairs. Barry looked at the letters, saw that they were dripping red and dark purple. They had some microscopic mouths that showed some canines on the side. He didn¡¯t enjoy them, that time. Something in their dance was hurting his eyes, there was some torment in their minute movements, some sharp pixels and lagging that made the whole thing look like the opening credits of a horror movie. He opened his eyes at once and fought for breath for a second, realizing he was still in Ms White¡¯s bed. Her bedroom. He was lying in front of her huge moon painting, framed in gold, surmounted by a plastic bird sculpture that she had nailed to the wall above her condemned fireplace. ¡°Barry¡± he heard her on the side, tilted his head, ¡°don¡¯t be afraid, you are at my apartment, remember? I am Eugenie White, and you¡¯ve been here now, for some hours, everything is okay¡± He understood she was trying to avoid a panic. How could he have told her that nothing about her bedroom walls, nothing about the lavender smell here, was actually unknown to him? He hoped that no slumber would rock him far enough from self control that the confession would ever escape his lips. He turned his head to see her, I am Eugenie White, and did his best to smile, ¡°I re mem ber¡± he said. The words exploded in his abdomen, his voice so low but, inside, thundering and echoing and the words bouncing against his ribs. He brought his hand on his stomach, winced, ¡°oh man¡± She grabbed his other hand and patted it like a little muffin top, ¡°I hope you¡¯ve recharged a bit, Barry, I gave you some benzodiazepine, you were under for some six hours¡± ¡°Benzozi¡­ benzala¡± ¡°There is no need whatsoever for you to repeat that name. It¡¯s just some drugs¡± ¡°Thank you¡± he whispered. She looked ghastly and completely wrung out from everything she had been through, but she was still so lovely. Her messy hair created a light halo around her beautiful face, her cheeks still red from the action, the ample tee-shirt she was wearing was too large and had not seen an iron for a million years, the breezy opening of it giving space to her neck and the start of her round shoulders. Within his anguish, he found another little smile climb out of him. He was in simple adoration for her, like he had been before only, this time, he had her for himself, so near, outside the classroom, ridden of her illustrations of valleys and moutains, notebooks, thermometers, rain charts, board markers, strict academic directions. Was it worth getting gunned down? he thought. ¡°No-ho¡± he chuckled, embarrassed by his own thinking. ¡°What¡± ¡°Nothing, ah fuuck¡± She brushed the hair back from his forehead, his skin was sticky, said, ¡°you¡¯re not out of the woods yet, Barry. There are a lot of painful hours ahead¡± ¡°I can see that¡± It was atrocious. He thought back about the little teeth of the red and violet letters of his last dream. Something similar and vicious was chewing at him, masticating the middle of his body furiously, throbbing more vividly down his left side. ¡°I¡¯m here, you¡¯re not alone, okay?¡± she yawned, brought her hand to her mouth, ¡°sorry I haven¡¯t slept for a while¡± ¡°For¡­ how long¡± Speaking hurt, he saw. Hearing hurt. His earlobes and his hair hurt too. ¡°For a very long time like, since Friday morning¡± she sneered, then shook her head, ¡°it¡¯s okay, don¡¯t worry about that, I will sleep later¡± ¡°Thank you Ms W White¡± He had no idea what day they were now. ¡°We can still, you know.. drop you off at a clinic¡± ¡°No¡± he closed his eyes, pushed his hand stronger against his stomach, ¡°no nono, no hospital. Don¡¯t worry I cccan¡­ handle it¡± He filled his cheeks with air, released it slowly. Some nice molecules of oxygen. The warmth and dampness of Ms White¡¯s palm and the lightness of her fingers on his other hand. He focused on those things. ¡°It would be nice if you could sleep again, but I can¡¯t give you anything for the next hour¡± ¡°I¡¯m too wired, I ¡­ have a lot of ele¡­ ctricity in my head now¡± ¡°Really?¡± she asked, a little interested ¡°Yes it¡¯s very funky¡± some new sweat beads started dripping down his chest and flanks, ¡°is that the moon¡± he lifted his chin towards the large painting in front of him. Ms White nodded, ¡°you are a ff fan of the moon?¡± he asked her.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°I kind of hate the moon, I¡¯d say. She likes to see me suffer¡± That was interesting, ¡°then hmhmm why dyou h¡­ have her por¡­ por por¡ª¡± ¡°Portrait? Flattery I suppose¡± she laughed shyly, ¡°Barry don¡¯t speak, just relax¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay it d d ddistracts me like¡± he sighed, ¡°like at school at lunch¡± ¡°At school at lunch?¡± she frowned, unsure she had heard well Why do I do that to myself, he wondered, ¡°I used to visit you on the bench to pass the time¡± ¡°You are telling me this as if I don¡¯t remember¡± ¡°You remember?¡± he tried not to sound so eager. ¡°Those things are hard to forget¡± His eyes closed, he heard that sentence from her, relished within it, basked in the reassurance of it. ¡°You little motherf¡ª goofball¡± Ms White half-scowled, half-grinned, ¡°stop laughing, you¡¯re moving too much¡± she gently pushed down on his shoulder. She smelled like dish soap, sanitizer and coffee. Maybe it was still Saturday, but Barry had the feeling it was already Sunday, ¡°you¡­ you don¡¯t f ffind it amusing¡± ¡°Today I will make an exception¡± she said, ¡°and find it extremely amusing¡± ¡°I want to ttturn on my side, can you help me¡± ¡°No moving, Barry, I said no m¡ª¡± ¡°Please, it¡¯s killing me, this¡­ position¡± ¡°Alright alright¡± she sighed and got up, ¡°lean forward, come on, like that¡± She had difficulty rising, just like before, at the end of the school day, when it was the last hour and she was finished instructing the students on a task and distributing her papers, and finally sat down at her desk, and a student raised their hands asking for a pencil or an eraser. Those moments, when she was tediously lifting herself back up, the feet of her chair scraping the floor in a strident sound, she seemed to be pulling an entire bag of stones with her. There was a theory out there that teaching was a profession which turned people old early, which would explain the plethora of grey shiny hair Ms White already possessed. Barry pushed on his elbow, bent down, huffing and puffing, ¡°damn damn da¡ª¡± he closed his eyes, focused on her guiding movements, and at last he tilted on the side, ¡°dammit¡± ¡°I told you¡± a little exasperated, she forcefully punched the pillow under its head, to readjust it and make it puffy again, ¡°better now?¡± ¡°Not really¡± ¡°There is no position that¡¯s going to make your pain better, Barry. Close your eyes and breathe, Barry, in through your nose¡± ¡°O¡­ kay¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk for a minute, just breathe, and then out through your mouth, like this¡± she demonstrated, and they breathed together for a moment. ¡°Now, breathe in for three seconds, out for three seconds, can you do that? I¡¯m going to count¡± ¡°It helps¡± he lied after a couple breaths, he had the vague feeling she was trying to shut him up. ¡°See?¡± she seemed satisfied with herself and he owed it to her to humor her, ¡°I know what I¡¯m talking about¡± ¡°Yeah¡± ¡°Yeah¡± ¡°Have you ever seen Avatar?¡± She thought about it, ¡°the Last Airbender?¡± He snorted, regretted it, shook his head in desolation, ¡°no, the movie with the blue people¡± ¡°Aah, the Smurfs!¡± Barry closed his eyes patiently, and yet grateful that Ms White hadn¡¯t lost any of her entertainment potential during their years apart. Although she worked with teenagers every day, she was seriously lagging behind some recent pop culture events, ¡°it¡¯s a movie with mind-blowing graphics, by James Cameron, you know th¡ª¡± ¡°Oh I love James Cameron! He did Titanic, you know¡± ¡°Your favorite movie¡± ¡°And¡± Ms White¡¯s doe eyes narrowed and the suspicion inside them made Barry shiver, oh shit, he thought, ¡°how the hell would you know that¡± ¡°You.. said it in class like¡­ a million times¡± he feigned to be bored to death, while a pang of fire blasted inside his stomach. ¡°I doubt it really¡± ¡°Francesca told me¡± Ms White smiled warmly, ¡°your little girlfriend, I remember her very well, she was a darling, with beautiful hair¡± ¡°Whatever, we dated for like one day and a h h half¡± ¡°Why would she tell you that though¡± ¡°For uh¡­ Saint N¡­ Saint Patr¡­ Shark Week I mean Secret Santa. She wanted to make you a Titanic gift¡± ¡°Which she didn¡¯t¡± ¡°Yeah she¡± Barry twitched under another spasm, shook his head, ¡°was broke¡± ¡°That story makes no sense¡± ¡°I must be¡­ the drugs I mean¡­ the withdrawal of them¡± ¡°Let¡¯s watch it.¡± ¡°Titanic?¡± ¡°No-ho¡± she exclaimed, ¡°I don¡¯t wish to torture you more than needed, I mean Avatar. I will rent it and bring my laptop here and we can watch it, it will help time go faster until your next nap¡± As the download took forever and the film buffered for an extended amount of time, the pain surged and gurgled and expanded inside his abdomen, forcing him to shrink into a ball in a countering and containing move. His feet kicked underneath the thick blanket and his face crumpled like a little raisin under the sun. His limbs felt like they were made of barbwire strings, that the bed was a burning cauldron trying to fuse him into a block of fire and anguish. Ms White sighed and crouched on the floor next to the bed, slid one hand under his elbow and started scratching it with affection, ¡°I¡¯m here Barry¡± she said, ¡°just hang on for one more half hour, come on, breathe¡± ¡°Just¡ª¡± he opened his eyes and threw them up at her, ¡°promise you will stay with me¡± She receptioned his burning eyes and something emotional lowered her gigantic eyebrows, ¡°of course Barry, I¡¯m not going anywhere¡± ¡°Can you¡­ sit with me on the bed¡± ¡°Of¡­ course¡± she repeated, paused for a second without letting go of his stare, ¡°it¡¯s no problem Barry¡± Clumsily, she paced around the bed and precociously sat on the other side of him, as if they were getting ready for a slumber party. He could sense the uncertainty of her movements, the reservations. When she leaned against the wall in her back on the pillow neighbor to his, Barry presented her the palm of his hand, ¡°hold my hand please¡± ¡°Yes Barry¡± she did, rubbed it encouragingly again, ¡°see, I¡¯m here, you¡¯re not alone¡± ¡°If you tell anyone of this, I will¡ª¡± ¡°I know Barry¡± he could hear the smile in her voice. ¡°I will have to make up something terrible about you¡± ¡°Makes sense¡± ¡°I will say¡ª¡± ¡°Barry shut the fuck up. Movie¡¯s starting¡± He closed his eyes again, on two very hot tears. Inside his heart, he felt content. When he heard the opening song of the movie, with the chanting voice and the drums, Barry thought that he had actually done pretty well. PART 1: The weekend of wintry lights (21) Sunday She was running out of time, Monday was arriving too fast. She had already exchanged some emails with Samantha, the girl in Human Resources, mentioning her absence to come, and she had sworn that the medical certificate excusing her existed on this dimension, but the thing was, it did not. The day was a typical dry cold and sunny autumn day and some trucks from the municipality had started hanging the wintertime lights and decorations on her street, an ambitious endeavor, marking every quarter of a block with Las Vegas style patterns of what could either be glittery lines of snowballs or frowny smiley faces made of light bulbs. She had woken up on the floor on her yoga mat, finalized her tucking in of Barry around noon and painfully stretched her arms, arched her back. Was that how her colleague Margot said she felt like after trying Jennifer Lopez¡¯ workout program for a week? For sure, that had to be worse. She didn¡¯t have a lot of time to fight her fatigue and act, she had to get things done. Eugenie was noticing that, with hours going by and turning into literal days, forming a weekend, she freaked out less when she thought of Barry. Maybe she was too tired for freaking out, she didn¡¯t know but, hey, you had to grab what you could if the chance presented itself: less rehashing, more proactive behavioring! She undressed in her bathroom, counted twenty five different bruises on her body, from being kicked, falling a number of times, hitting furniture, all sorts of colors on her upper back and thighs and elbows, some of them a pretty pink color. Reluctantly getting closer to her reflection in the mirror, she saw that her upper lip was slightly swollen from getting struck by Barry¡¯s knee the night before, ¡°shit¡± that was not going to help her next step, but she continued to keep her thinking at a minimum and just carefully stepped into the shower. The steamy hot water on her skin was pure delight, and she permitted herself an entire twenty-minute session of it and its healing effect. There was always the fear of getting stuck in the shower, being unable to exit it and face the horror of the real world after so much bliss, and it was a real fear creeping around. In the misty room, she dried herself and wrapped herself inside a soft towel, brushed her air neatly, and silently stepped into the bedroom where Barry was still sleeping to reach the closet, picked a simple brown dress, a pair of tights, and closed the bathroom door again. Wiping the mirror with the towel to chase the fog, she did her makeup, simple, just a touch of mascara, some discreet blush, a light gloss on her lips, deploring that the enterprise was unable to do much against the fact that she looked like someone who had not slept for days and hit her mouth on something hard, but well, she was well launched into her plan. Sitting on a chair in the living room which was overlooking her flattened and wrecked dinner table, Eugenie finally used her cell phone to call someone. She dialed Chedli¡¯s number. It would be the first human voice she would hear since everything had gone to shit with Barry¡¯s arrival and she didn¡¯t know if she could speak like a normal person again. Enthusiastically? A bit, yes, she¡¯d have to be, she thought while the phone was ringing. Sounding detached? Sounding horny? She didn¡¯t have the energy to pretend. She cleared her throat when Chedli picked up and she straightened up on her chair, ¡°Chedlii how are you?¡± She deemed the level of enthusiasm sufficient and sensible. He was fine. He was happy she called. He was actually just thinking about her when the call had come in. ¡°You are lying¡± she forced a laugh, and then asked him out. What are you doing, she looked at the men at work attaching the seasonal decorations to the light poles on the street, busy with a mix of absence of fear of heights, adroitness, aesthetical equilibrium, and the physical strength to lift those huge-ass frowny faces ¨CI mean snowballs. What are you doing? The voice asked again You really want me to explain this to you? I am going to sleep with Chedli so he can give me a medical certificate for a week-long absence. What else? There was simply no other alternative. Just as Barry had resorted to her as the only acceptable health defender on his list on Friday, she was reaching out to the only doctor she personally knew on Sunday. ¡°Lunch?¡± she asked. Get him full of food ¡°Lunch? Eugenie¡±, Chedli spoke, his warm voice chuckling on the other end of the call, ¡°it is 3 pm.¡± ¡°Fuck, really? Already?¡± she looked at the little clock on her chimney, only now noticed that the corner of it had been chipped, probably during Barry¡¯s bolting to steal the phone from her hand when she had tried to flee into the corridor and call 911, ¡°so, coffee?¡± Get him drunk, GIRL, you are covered with bruises, your lip is busted, you bear a striking resemblance with Smeagold, you¡¯re going to need a cocktail, you¡ª Chedli accepted the coffee invitation, a little surprised after a long period of ghosting, so Eugenie hung up, unable to identify a real feeling in her heart about the whole thing, and then headed out to honor her request for a date. Before closing the door of her apartment, she fed the cat and stood quietly near the bed, on which Barry was flattened, his eyes closed and the sound of his breath filling the room. Steady, calm. She entered back into the apartment, snatched a post-it note, a thick marker and taped a message big enough on the door of her bedroom that Barry would see it without having to move: BE BACK SOON. She added an exclamation point, then changed her mind, used the line of it as the long trunk of a Christmas tree, found the idea ridiculous and threw the whole thing in the bin. Barry had not gotten shot in the brain, he would understand by his own means that she was gone and meant to return. She locked the door, took a deep breath, went down the stairs, buried her nose inside her scarf in the cold temperature of November, shocked that the voice was still pestering her while she was trying to focus and be productive. You truly believe that Chedli will have sex with you, you crazy pineapple bitch? You will seriously get rid of your clothes and climb on top of him with in the shape you are, vaulted like Quasimodo? You believe he will feel aroused when he sees your spectral and spooky face? Crazy bitch, Gollum, the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, how was that for references used in a pep talk? I wish you addressed me in a kinder manner, I¡¯m trying to save a life after all. Yeah but you are doing it the idiotic way. ¡°What other hope do I have?¡± she mumbled grumpily inside her scarf, pacing fast through the street, slaloming between the pedestrians and their bags, their strollers, their scooters, their dogs on leashes, appreciating the warmth of the sun on her face, ¡°I need a medical certificate so I am off work next week¡± Sex is sex, she added, bitterly, I smell good, I¡¯m uh¡­ she looked for another encouraging word, another attribute she was bringing to the sex-appeal table, found the mission extremely challenging, I have soft hair, I am uh¡­ enthusiastic, and she was mocked again by her voice. Did every adult have an inner dialogue such as hers? Eugenie was pretty sure that at least parents did, as she saw her student¡¯s mothers and fathers and guardians suffer from harsh self-judgements all the time. It must be pretty difficult to raise a child, she had always thought and, very early on, decided against maternity. What a way to invite the voice inside to tell you that you were shit at life, not just sporadically but every day. She really hoped that she wouldn¡¯t have to engage in sexual intercourse with Chedli more than twenty minutes, twenty-five, at the longest. Her body wouldn¡¯t be able to go through real hours of real lovemaking. The fresh air and the stroll helped re-energize her, but the exhaustion at her core and limbs was cumbersome. ¡°Eugenie?¡± someone tapped her on the shoulder and she spun, startled. She had zoned out the whole walk to the coffee shop and she was there now, her inside voice suddenly evaporated, and a very real Chedli two heads taller than her. He was more than two meter in height, had always stubbornly preferred golfing to basketball, and his beard was very long, very hipster under his hat. She hadn¡¯t lied to her voice, before: he was quite good-looking. When he was younger, when they had met, he had a baby face but had soon grew a beard over it, gained a bit in masculinity and attenuated his boyish looks. He dressed well, wore glasses elegantly and his eyes were warm. He had nice posture too. She stiffened, thinking about her own disastrous posture of the moment, as her back pain was testing her, and her butt was sore, and her legs were slightly bent.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Oh my gosh, Chedli¡± she hugged him, cringing, lazy and bored to check all the boxes of the date to come: greetings, solving of the who-would-pay-or-should-we-split-the-bill-up question that never failed to happen, sitting down showing the profile of her face that was the least detrimental to her image, eating, yes, that would be pleasant, but eating like a lady, maintaining eye contact, without letting any croissant crumbs fall inside her sleeve. It had happened to her before, that she had been devouring a sandwich in front of a guy on whom she had a major crush without noicing that some lettuce leaves were sliding out from the bread slices, into her sleeves. Finally, would reveal itself the real objective of the date and, lowering her gaze and choosing a whiskey voice, she would have to suggest, your place or mine? ARE YOU INSANE, you cannot propose to him to go to your place! Are you stupid? Aye Madonna, are you¡ª GOT IT NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP ¡°Long time no see!¡± ¡°Are you alright?¡± Chedli grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him to have a better look at her, ¡°you look like a gh¡­ I mean like you have seen a ghost!¡± ¡°Well, school has been a little wild, I guess¡± Eventually, they sat down with their hot beverages and some scones, for which Chedli paid without having to discuss the sharing of their outing, because, as it turned out, he was in a splendid mood. He announced to Eugenie that he was engaged and about to get married in two months. Eugenie¡¯s mug stopped one centimeter from her mouth and she stared at the man, ¡°you¡¯re not going to say anything? You look shocked¡± he said, eagerly waiting for her reaction. ¡°Nononononono¡± she spilled some of her coffee on the table when she brutally put the mug down, ¡°I just didn¡¯t expect that at ALL, this is great news Chedli!¡± Great news that I don¡¯t have to sleep with him, but now, what am I suppos¡ª ¡°mashallah¡± she remembered some words in Arabic that she had learned with him. Arabic was undoubtedly top of the list of the most beautiful languages she had ever learned, especially his, from the Maghreb. Mashallah my ass! Change of plans, Eugenie! She didn¡¯t expect either that the voice would use her real name over a usual insults, bombard him with joy, drown him in questions, men love that, prepare for hours of tales, request the background story and¡­ you¡¯re not going to like it but¡ª ¡°I hope that you are not too¡­ disappointed¡± he said, with genuine care for her. That moved Eugenie. He was a nice man, wouldn¡¯t ever hurt a fly. Always respectful, always a thought for someone else. She was not against sleeping with him because she didn¡¯t like him or because his personality was insufferable, no, it was simply because sex was the last thing on her mind at the moment. ¡°Noo, are you serious Chedli? Not disappointed at all!¡± She eyed the scone on her little plate. A child at the table nearby, clinging to his mother¡¯s shoulder, did the same. What am I not going to like to hear? She asked the voice Request some pictures Noo please, Eugenie¡¯s shoulders melted a little bit, in disinclination. Engagement pictures NOO She did her best and spent two hours there and let Chedli whip out his tablet from the pouch he was groovily carrying over his shoulder, where Eugenie watched his index finger press a couple of dots on the screen and enter a folder titled Lurv Photoshoot. Was it really better than quick shitty sex in an improvised corner of the world or even on Chedli¡¯s old bachelor couch ¨Csoon to be trashed? She wasn¡¯t sure which was the worst, but she had come here for a reason, and she gave it all she could, complimenting the bride to be, grilling him about who she was and even venturing as far as asking the audacious How-did-you-guys-meet question. Many scones were consumed during the listening of those takes she didn¡¯t give a fuck about. ¡°And the venue?¡± she questioned him Impressive, the voice recognized. Yeah, no, I¡¯m not going to hold back. There would be descriptions of places and visits and reservations and consideration for the temperature and the light in the hope to recreate some cozy oriental vibes and hide the show from the outside world¡ª nothing she cared about. ¡°Who will be there at the wedding?¡± Impressive as fuck, admitted the voice. There would be infinite listing of names that she had never heard and family connections tracing way back when something else of no importance to Eugenie¡¯s heart took place, attempt to make her visualize a floor plan and a seating plan ¡°Traditional Muslim wedding, everyone will be there. But with a modern twist, like, for instance, the cake, which we will cut into parts and shove into each other¡¯s mouths like regular Western peasants¡± Chedli¡¯s eyes shone hungrily but he had not touched his scone. ¡°Did you already pick a cake?¡± Admirable. There would be endless episodes of showing up at spots in the city where the walls, the floor, the outside windows and inside decorum was so pastel even the Easter Bunny would throw up. ¡°Did you alrady pick a song for your first dance?¡± Hands down. There would be recounting and recounting of mixed tapes and ancient nostalgic histories of tracks being played, someone¡¯s body being possessed with notorious two left feet, a sad song to a deceased loved one from the Bled, killing the mood temporarily before some clapping restored it. ¡°Tell me all the details of how you proposed¡± GIRL, my bad. Boss Level, the voice was in awe. For the remarkable man that Chedli was, there would be several chapters, probably an intimate one with the chosen one of his heart followed by a more formal one to the father of the fianc¨¦e. There would have to be teary eyes to react to that sort of anecdote. An even bigger faster surge and butt jump at the picture of a very very very shiny rock now following the movement of a hand under a sunset in another unbearable photo shoot. My bad, you earned it, you earned your paper. My paper, Eugenie remembered. ¡°You will wear your djelaba?¡± ¡°It¡¯s called a ceremonial sherwani, Eugenie¡± Sexy, she agreed. But my paper, I cannot leave without my paper. At the end of it, Eugenie was vanquished, shriveled up inside and she had retained nothing of the identity of Chedli¡¯s soon-to-be wife, nor of anything he had described to her. She watched herself raise a timid finger and mention a week-long medical certificate to excuse her from her job. She was so spent that she didn¡¯t care about Chedli¡¯s opinion regarding her request and she just blurted it out, spat out one last crumb of scone. Then, she watched him nod empathically to her, something on his traits that looked like friendship or, worse, pity, motivate his browsing of the device on the table in front of him, and open a very different file on his tablet¡¯s desktop, display a document and add his digital signature to it, ¡°here¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ve excused you for two weeks. Pneumonia¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± she felt some real tremors, this time, excite her. ¡°It¡¯s in your email, you can send it to your school. You look like you need it.¡± Between Chedli and the owner of the night shop from which she had obtained cigarettes, peanuts, alcohol and whipped cream, added to the free-hug man at the exit of her Friday night parking lot, she kept hearing that ¡®she looked like she needed it¡¯ Perhaps she had to acknowledge it., ¡°Would you prefer bronchitis? No? A combination of both? She realized the days were getting shorter, nearing winter season as the decorations carried up to illuminate the paths of pedestrians there were nearing it too. Chedli stepped outside of the coffee shop not before having reassured her that he would eventually find true love too, especially after taking those two weeks to, perhaps, think about a little makeover or self-care stay at a spa. They waved each other goodbye and promised to meet up again very soon after the wedding, inshallah, and then he walked away merrily, with entrain, as the sun was already starting to set, basking everything in warmer, deeper tones. Not just him or people who accomplished things society dictated were blessed by golden hour. Everyone was. Too tired to get up, Eugenie caught the waiter¡¯s attention and ordered herself a hot chocolate. Changing her mind at the last minute, she opted for some mulled wine. She sat for half an hour, looking through the caf¨¦¡¯s window at everyone walking her large boulevard, its boulevard-size through the city a thick vein cutting a heart, bringing murmur and a pause to the effervescence, everyone busy, the tourist groups and their guides speaking Spanish, Dutch, Korean, some languages she didn¡¯t identify. A lot of visitors strayed from regular tours, lured by the deceiving peaceful aspect of the neighborhood, ventured on her darker corner of the city, unknowingly putting themselves in danger or being mugged. She imagined Barry sitting opposite her. The fatigue massaged her body heavily, her bones, her gravity center, and the seat under her butt was so comfy, and her beverage was warm, and she heard Barry say: ¡°All those people, they have no idea. How many times we rescued them, from the worst. They go about their lives, and we, from the Team, protect them¡± ¡°It¡¯s lonely, I imagine¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s okay¡± she heard back, so she paid for her drink and darted out of the place, rushed back home with her fake two-week medical certificate inside her cell phone. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (1) Edge On the fourth day, Barry opened his eyes and felt slightly better. Then he went right back to sleep after that and, on the seventh day, he woke up again. There was a clear improvement to his predicament, it was immediately obvious. His muscles were aching from the tension of the recent past, trying to break free from a frozen mold, and his whole body was sore, but he felt lighter, his mind clearer. When his eyes got accustomed to the semi-darkness, they wandered inside their globes without moving his head, and he observed the room again. Eugenie White¡¯s bedroom. He didn¡¯t remember how he had ended up here, but it made sense. She had to hide him. Had she carried him? Not without a miracle. The memory of it was absent from his mind. It was a typical bedroom for an old building such as the one she inhabited, with two prominent closets towering everything opposite of the bed, a condemned fireplace inserted in the middle of them, to the millimeter. He counted precisely ten some half-consummated candles sitting on the fireplace, and noticed the picture of a house in a field among the candles with, as background, a spectacular poppy field. It had replaced the previous moon painting she had hung there, he saw. On the left, the only window of the room, whose curtains were lazily pulled, letting the sunshine enter the place. Barry rested his eyes on the light. It was the beginning of winter but its mat and dusty sun rays reminded him of spring. On the right, a door, which led to the bathroom. It was a strangely arranged apartment which circled around a loop. Was he meant to toy with death in order to breech this flat? His thoughts were strange, presently, still oscillating between dream and reality. There was an interesting faith newly blossoming in his heart. What else to do after what he had been through and the very surprising way that Eugenie White had reacted? He was tempted to believe in something, in a novel order of things. ¡°Bullshit¡± he whispered, chased the thoughts away and slowly pushed on his elbows to rise, stopping halfway due to the pain that blew up in his stomach. He fell back on the pillow with a grunt but then, he heard something on the right. Ms White, she was coming. She had very good ears, typical of a teacher¡¯s and trained to intercept the faintest murmurs in her crowd of students. He grumbled through the discomfort and lifted himself higher, this time, landing on his butt. He wasn¡¯t about to look to her like a deflated balloon, not anymore, there had been enough of that. Eugenie White appeared at the threshold of the door and threw her hand against the light switch. A cozy pinkish lamp was turned on above Barry. ¡°Barry what is it?¡± She asked. He smothered a gasp at the sight of her. If at their previous face-to-face, she had seemed tired, presently, she looked stretched thin, pushed at the verge of survival. She was more gaunt, more hunched, wearing a wool jumper that looked like a cleaning rag with, on top, an apron saying Los Angeles Olympics, her hair was dirty and some oily locks were sticking to her temples, but her face was the most shocking part of her. Her cheeks had become hollow, her eyes buried deep inside some deep holes, ornamented by some fresh sets of wrinkles all around them, and her skin was grey and droopy. Barry held his breath, slightly horrified. What had he done to her? She resembled a scarecrow. ¡°BARRY WHAT IS IT¡± ¡°NOTHING¡± he snapped out of it and presented the palm of his hand to her. With the other hand, he brushed against his abdomen. He could feel the thick bandages that he was rolled into under his shirt. Everything was dry, it was a nice sensation to be dry. ¡°I¡¯m okay, Ms white, are you okay?¡± ¡°What are you doing¡± she said suspiciously ¡°I¡¯m sitting on my ass¡± he snorted, winced in pain, but kept on laughing ¡°I¡¯ve upgraded to uh¡­ sitting on my ass¡± Eugenie¡¯s shoulders melted in a sigh of relief and she pulled a little stool that was placed next to the bed to sit by him ¡°Holy shit, you scared me¡± ¡°You¡¯ve had some uh¡­ difficult days Ms White?¡± ¡°For sure, for sure. Are you really okay?¡± ¡°Yeah¡± he smiled, snorted, then, not able to restrain himself anymore, he gently grabbed her hand from her lap and stuck his palm to hers in a lazy high five ¡°you did it, Ms White, you saved my ass, and now, I¡¯m sitting on it¡± She added her other hand to his, squeezed it while shaking her head in some disbelief and liberation ¡°you were right, Barry, it worked out¡± ¡°I mean I didn¡¯t know for sure you could pull it off¡± ¡°You believed in me¡± ¡°I had nowhere else to go¡± Barry let the harmless pleasure of some light banter continue to fill his heart with hope and joy again. ¡°You believed¡± she insisted, and she snatched her hand back jealously, wiped some invisible dirt from it on her apron ¡°don¡¯t get too excited, though, you can¡¯t just jump around and swing from building to building, still¡± ¡°No cause that¡¯s Arachnovitch¡¯s superpower¡± ¡°You can¡¯t uh, go bolting all over the town¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry Ms White, I still feel like absolute shit¡± ¡°How did you find my address¡± she frowned. ¡°In the phone book of course¡± She squinted doubtfully, ¡°in the ph¡ª how did you know I was a nurse before?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, that¡¯s confidential¡± he scratched his nose ¡°hey, tell me everything¡± She raised her eyebrows with an avid expression on her face ¡°everything again?¡± ¡°What do you mean again?¡± ¡°We already had that conversation Barry¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any recollection of that¡± She rolled her eyes but he saw she was amused, ¡°That¡¯s alright, you know that my job has always been to explain things over and over¡± ¡°Whatever, how have you been?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been terrible¡± ¡°What did I miss? How did you keep me alive?¡± ¡°Easy job, like, NOT at all¡± ¡°Tell me¡± ¡°Well as a start¡± she started speaking very close to his face like they were two children at the back of a tent at night on camping trip exchanging secrets above a flashlight, barely hiding her excitement to finally be able to talk ¨Cagain, apparently. ¡°The integrity of your suit prevented the bullet that hit you to dig deep inside of your stomach, so I retrieved it after a few tries¡± ¡°A few tries?¡± he cringed ¡°A few tries. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t know what to do with it, with that bullet. I¡¯m sure perhaps it would have been cool to keep it as a souvenir but¡± ¡°What NO¡± he gasped ¡°uugh no no no¡± ¡°I also didn¡¯t know, I mean, didn¡¯t want to leave a trace, so I got rid of it¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even want to remember that thing, it¡¯s like, the lowest point in my life like, intergalactic low¡± ¡°Good¡± she stared at him awkwardly. ¡°What is it?¡± Eugenie White lowered her eyes, ¡°well Barry you¡­ you understand that I haven¡¯t practiced uh¡­ being a nurse for many years, right¡± ¡°What did you do?¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Stitching without uh¡­ some good instruments and with my uh¡­ dexterity being uh¡­ not so good, you know¡± ¡°Oh Lord¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±, she took hold of his hand again and faced him with remorse, ¡°you¡¯re going to have to uh¡­ explain some things when you go to the pool or to the beach or to a lake or uh to a river? To a stream, to¡ª¡± ¡°To a body of water, yes?¡± ¡°Yes uh¡­ swimming in general or when uh¡­ when you have a girlfriend or something¡± You made a monster, he thought ¡°Now I will freak out the little children at the pool and the ladies¡± She nodded, ¡°that¡¯s a very large scar um¡­ messy, I would say¡± Barry looked at her, entertained, as he didn¡¯t give a shit about aesthetics, sure about his charms no matter what, ¡°okay, I have heard enough¡± His hand landed on his abdomen once more, this time with more curiosity and a tug of emotion. She had indeed pulled it off. He was proud of her. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t your first time, am I wrong?¡± she asked, ¡°I saw another mark on your back¡± Now he was the one who was a bit mortified, picturing Eugenie White flipping him like an omelette and discovering some of his secrets. ¡°Ah yes no well¡± he cleared his throat, ¡°can you believe it? my first time, first mission ever, and I got stabbed in the back, like a s''more, by a teenager¡± ¡°On your lower back, barely missing your kidney¡± Eugenie White said ¡°I almost died¡± ¡°You almost died before?¡± ¡°Of shame, yes¡± Now, her mouth was hanging wide open, ¡°you¡¯re kidding¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡¯m not kidding, Ms White, it was like, the first day of school and you¡¯re trying to act cool and everything and then you trip on your laces at the cafeteria and fall into some mashed potatoes¡± ¡°Oh my goodness, what did you do¡± ¡°I kicked his ass¡± he nodded. ¡°He stabbed you with a knife?¡± ¡°A very small knife fortunately. But you know¡­ I had my Team¡± ¡°Your¡­ team¡± Eugene White was looking through him, trying to picture things, ¡°where are they, Barry?¡± He glanced at the ceiling, uncomfortable, saw that the arrangement of cozy fushia lights seemed like the face of an alien in pattern ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± he said sadly ¡°I have to figure that out soon, I guess¡± They didn¡¯t say anything for a moment, both pensive, but Eugenie White must have sensed his guilt and feeling of powerlessness, as she moved on ¡°well, your friends from the Team had much better skills and tools than I had to fix you, that¡¯s for sure. Do you want some water?¡± She produced a bottle and a glass from somewhere between the bed and the night table and poured him a quick glass. He took it, cheered at her ¡°yes Ms White¡± ¡°Barry, at this point, call me just Eugenie, alright?¡± He almost choked on the water ¡°I uh¡± he cleared his throat loudly, ¡°don¡¯t think I can ever do that¡± They both laughed again, and she let him drink the rest of his water in peace. She was watching him in the corner of her eye with some color returning to her face, like someone looks at the best deal they got out of Black Friday or the best birthday cake they¡¯ve ever baked. I¡¯m her masterpiece, he gloated inside. He looked to meet her stare and they shared this moment of respite, of contentment with how things had turned out, against all odds. She had the loveliest dimples when she smiled. ¡°Jesus, I was parched. And then what happened?¡± She resumed enthusiastically ¡°well, get this: I went to school and found your blood type, from your old student file¡± She must have been so lonesome all those days, unable to speak with anyone about what she was going through. ¡°I have a file?¡± ¡°Yes, I told you before¡± ¡°When?¡± ¡°When you woke up here, like, early on. I guess you forgot, you weren¡¯t all there¡± ¡°A file?¡± ¡°From when you got vaccinated there, yes¡± ¡°What¡¯s a blood type?¡± he asked ¡°Are you serious?¡± ¡°Is it like, red type or white type or whatever?¡± She shrugged, ¡°it doesn¡¯t matter. You needed some fresh blood¡± ¡°And you did that?¡± Barry had never heard that blood had types, but he was interested. ¡°Yes¡± ¡°Where did you find some blood¡± ¡°Here¡± she brushed against the middle of her arm under her wool jumper, ¡°it turns out we have the same blood types¡± ¡°WHAT¡± ¡°Don¡¯t freak out it¡¯s totally safe Barry it¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°You did that?¡± She brought the palms of her hands upwards, started juggling some invisible kiwis, ¡°where do you think I could find some blood otherwise? It¡¯s not like you can buy it at the supermarket. Don¡¯t worry, Barry¡± she repeated, ¡°I have excellent veins, they¡¯re very thick and very flexible, it was a quick and smooth process¡± ¡°Did you eat a big sandwich after that¡± ¡°I ate a big sandwich after that¡± ¡°What was it?¡± ¡°Burger King Whooper, no mayo¡± He nodded approvingly, ¡°What are the odds that we are the same blood type?¡± he was still stunned. ¡°Very high actually. Forty percent of people have it, and even if mine was different, yours can be mixed with most of the other blood types. Stop looking at me like that¡± ¡°You¡¯re a crazy bi¡ª you¡¯re a crazy lady¡± he smiled at her, fighting some tears that he had not expected. ¡°But regardless, it would have been more dire if you hadn¡¯t patched yourself up before that, believe me, you could have lost way more blood, even perhaps fatally¡± ¡°So now we are¡­¡± he thought hard about it, blinked, ¡°blood related¡± Oh no Barry¡¯ heart skipped a beat. Eugenie White was the last person he desired to be blood related with. ¡°Sure. We have mixed your blood and mine. Maybe it will bring you some temperance¡± ¡°Some what?¡± ¡°Maybe my blood will cool off your super hot bl¡ª I¡¯M JOKING OK¡± She brushed it off. ¡°Does that mean if we ever had children they would be disabled or diformed?¡± ¡°What the fuck are you talking about, Barry?¡± ¡°N Nothing¡± he really needed to know more about that blood concern of his soon, without relying on asking questions to Eugenie White. ¡°Anyway, and I was nicely asleep through all of that?¡± he genuinely wondered, disturbed by the black hole in the middle of his memory ¡°I didn¡¯t twitch, turn, flap my arms?¡± ¡°I used some empty whipped cream bottles to keep you in the land of dreams¡± ¡°Some wh¡ª you see what I mean? You remember a lot of things from nursing school!¡± ¡°That was Google¡± she said. ¡°You.. just googled that shit up?¡± She nodded, put on the spot, ¡°sacrebleu¡± he whistled ¡°you took a gamble¡± ¡°You took a gamble¡± ¡°Snap, Ms Wh¡ª Eugenie White, you are a genius¡± ¡°Thank you Barry¡± she was blushing now, and it occurred to him that she must be pleased with herself, possibly a little astonished, that she had actually delivered. ¡°It¡¯s giving GIRL BOSS¡± ¡°Girl boss¡± she repeated in a murmur ¡°how is your pain level?¡± ¡°High¡± he sneered. She nodded ¡°you¡¯re quite remarkable yourself, making it through this ordeal, no painkillers, nothing¡± ¡°You¡¯re impressed aren¡¯t you¡± ¡°Very. Let¡¯s see your arm, how does it feel¡± ¡°Brand fucking new¡± he grinned. She leaned over to fetch his other hand on the left side, pressing expertly between his knuckles, ¡°you have any weird sensations in your hand?¡± ¡°Some tickle, maybe, like some tingles¡± There was a real admiration dancing at the bottom of her eyes. She had never managed to teach him Geography but she had saved his life. He went on, ¡°As long as I¡¯m back in the ping pong game, I¡¯m satisfied¡± ¡°You can be back in the Bingo game¡± ¡°How about bowling?¡± She ignored him ¡°I watched Avatar¡± ¡°AVATAR¡± he went from surprised to baffled. ¡°We watched him together but you fell asleep right at the beginning¡± This was getting better and better, ¡°you saw that scene with my favorite quote, when the two characters meet and the little mosquito thing lands on the girl¡¯s bow and arrow, so she doesn¡¯t murder the guy¡± ¡°Mosquito thing?¡± Ms White squinted, unsure ¡°Then he asks her why she didn¡¯t kill him and she says¡± ¡°She says, You have a strong heart¡± ¡°Yeah¡± ¡°I still don¡¯t get it, oh wait¡± Ms White shook her head, hiding a yawn behind her hand ¡°I got you a couple of things¡± She disappeared from the bedroom in a flash and came back after a minute, hiding something behind her back. ¡°Holy molly Ms White, you got me a gift? What is it, is it chocolate? Is it a Nintendo Switch¡± ¡°Better¡± she wiggled her nose in front of his, sitting herself back on the stool, so he pushed himself up a bit higher. He stiffened in anguish but felt very happy. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time someone had gifted him anything. Except for Hobbes and his Bolt suit, of course, but that was rather a calculated move. Eugenie White revealed her present, resting in her two hands. ¡°A phone?¡± Barry whispered, ¡°oh my God, you got me a telephone!¡± ¡°The pin code for it is 2222, sorry I didn¡¯t know your birthday¡± ¡°222, angel number, right place, right time, it¡¯s perfect¡± ¡°You know your angel numbers¡± ¡°Hell yeah¡± and he admired at the little rectangle she had placed in his hand, swiped the screen unlocked, entered the digits. It was a cheap device, older than the last generation with some bumps on the frame, and she had probably purchased it second hand from one of the shops on her busy boulevard, but he felt a lump in the back of his mouth and something stingy creep up his nose, itchy eyes. ¡°Can I, hm uh download Candy Crush on it¡± ¡°Are you fucking crying, Barry?¡± She recoiled with concern and he laughed at her, heartily, painfully ¡°it¡¯s the nerves¡± ¡°You¡¯re okay Barry?¡± He brought the phone to his ear like he was on a call, ¡°ex-cuse mee, hello¡± he brushed away one small tear, ¡°it¡¯s been a shitty month, so that¡¯s like the whole highlight¡± ¡°I thought you might want to uh¡­ call someone¡± He sniffled, ¡°someone?¡± ¡°You have been missing for a number of days, Barry. Isn¡¯t someone worried about you, out there?¡± He shook his head, blinked away more tears, get your shit together, Masquevert, ¡°not for now, no. Besides, I¡¯m not a millennial, Ms White, I don¡¯t know any phone numbers by heart¡± She eyed him strangely, her head tiled on the side, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m imposing I¡¯m uh, I just need¡ª¡± She looked like she couldn¡¯t hold it anymore and in a nanosecond, she half sat on the little available space next to him on the bed and took him in her arms, squeezed him tight, ¡°aaiille, Ms White please, no¡± he protested feebly, a more formidable and menacing sob forming in his throat, the huge piece of cooling lava rock inside his abdomen poking through his rib cage, ¡°no need to¡­ no need to h¡ª¡± ¡°Shhh, shut up Barry¡± she said, ¡°you can stay here as long as you need, alright? It¡¯s not an imposition¡± Now, his tears were flowing freely and he discreetly rubbed his nose on her shoulder, ¡°whatever you have been through¡± she added, ¡°it¡¯s over for now, I will help you as much as I can¡± She smelled like plants and coconut and sweat and rubber. She let go off him and stared straight into his eyes, ¡°it¡¯s time for you to figure out your things, for yourself¡± Her words electrified him and he shivered imperceptibly. They were spoken un-complicatedly with the simple desire to reassure him. Unable to follow through on this new roller coaster of honest emotions, Barry giggled nervously, nodded, wiped the water from his cheeks with both hands like a child. They smiled at each other in the silence. Their misadventures had taken a toll on her, but she was still delightful, her big brown eyes still had the same spark at the bottom of them, her eyebrows highly perched, her neck delicate, the mess in her hair making her look ethereal. She had very pretty hands, clutching the fabric of her apron. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (2) 2012 ¨C Barry¡¯s ninth grade Since his very first day of high school, second period Geography class, Barry had had a major crush on his teacher, Ms Eugenie White. As a Freshman, he had sat in the middle row of her classroom, and the first image of her that remained in his brain forever was that she was not paying attention to the new arrivals of August yet, but was rather occupied by some housekeeping items. She was indeed busy digging into her oversize purse for some papers, frustrated at something. Her mid-length hair was tied lazily into a ponytail, a curl had escaped from it, dancing over the bag as she dug into it vividly, dangling a crooked shadow on the angles of her face. He had first noticed her supervising reception in the early morning, at the arrival of the buses, and had seen the wind disrupt her coiffe and her hairband. He recalled he had spent one extra second sizing her up before he got shouted at provocatively by one of his friends and joined a random Freshman group. Then she stood up, and saw the students and seemed to half-register them, but she still went on digging inside her bag, until she gave up. Barry watched her, wondered what it felt like to be a teacher, one second still granted your human bubble, absorbed by the secret content of your bag, and the next, on to introduce some people fifteen or twenty years younger than you to a new subject, a new class. He supposed it could be like an actor stepping on stage, although, from his experience, teachers were lazy actors. They didn¡¯t try very hard to get students interested in their classes, just trained them to pass some tests. Had little to say about the core of it and even less useful substance to pass on when it came to real life. Seeing her transform from the privacy of her desk chair to the front of the class, gesturing with enthusiasm about what they were going to learn in Geography while her face showed little trace of pathos, he watched, intrigued. She was reserved, he saw with time to get to know her, calm, composed, but very warm, encouraging. Matter-of-fact but meaning it. He couldn¡¯t put his finger on it. She would praise her area of expertise, fan-girling over herself and, the next second, make fun of her own individual for being such a nerd or now knowing an answer to a question. Somewhere in his heart the feeling grew that she cared little about Geography but immensely loved teaching every day and she would have been happy just to teach anything. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Which was a lot to say about the feeling Ms White¡¯s vision shaped in him, since he attended a regular small town high school where girls like the ones from the cheerleaders¡¯ teams and their cliques were hot as hell and walked around with the smallest amount of clothes as possible even in the winter, nails done, full makeup, popping pink bubble gum as they were gossiping or cat-fighting, pacing provocatively through the corridors. Then after exploring that one demographics, there were still the female athletes, the geeky ones with their fake unassuming airs of do-not-touch but who possessed some dark urges, and many more categories. Ms White was old, like, real old, like, his mom¡¯s age if he had had a mom. Almost thirty, he could guess, so he never shared his emotion with his classmates by fear of being ridiculed. Of course, some students fancied their Gym teacher or that Math guy who was also a volunteer firefighter outside of school, that new nurse who was also teaching Health and who looked like a Russian model. Or Mr Chill, whose real name had been forgotten, as he taught philosophy and entranced his pupils with his vivid metaphors and well-placed jokes, who had risen with time in popularity for a lot of girls and guys. He was even receiving some anonymous love letters in his cubby and, one year, a couple of dudes had dressed up as him for Halloween. Ms White, outside of those extraordinary exceptions, was not typically regarded as the subject of teenage desire. Was it because he was discovering his powers and freaking out about them, being entirely unable to speak about it to anyone, that he felt attracted to a person that usually didn¡¯t draw oohs and aahs? He didn¡¯t know. He was becoming aware of his uniqueness as an individual, and that he was transitioning into a superhero, but he was also a typical adolescent boy whose only goal was to truly fuck around, charm a crowd, clash chaos into order, and have fun all day, so he didn¡¯t trouble himself with deep questions at that time. Not before he had joined the Team had he finally been deprived of choice concerning his maturity, and been forced to accept to grow up. He didn¡¯t know why his preferences went to Ms White rather than his fellow female classmates ¨Calthough he must have hooked up with half his promotion by the time of graduation¡ª, he just knew she made his heart race in his chest when he sat in her class. Even her dressing so ordinary, nothing special, few items of jewelry, unexceptional layers of clothes, made him fall deeper for her. She was that boring teacher of Geography, that everyone imagined had the most boring life outside of school, and he adored her. Being accustomed to getting all the girls due to his frat boy looks and his apparent indestructible self-confidence and his ability to bullshit anyone, there was no questioning in little Barry¡¯s mind about what was ahead: he wanted to act on his crush for Ms White. For what purpose? He had no clue. He knew she was married ¨Cbefore she divorced at the beginning of his Sophomore year¡ª so he didn¡¯t expect anything from it. At the same time, the aim of this aspiration to act in Barry¡¯s heart was, again, not accompanied by a lot of thinking. But he wanted her to notice him, to feel special about him, and wouldn¡¯t that be tons of fun to put into motion? So at the beginning, he had tried to be located in her best graces, arriving on time in the morning and standing by her desk to ask her how she was doing and pretending to wonder what they were going to study that day with avidity. She was so beautiful when he could see her so near, marveling at all the details of her simple features as she was just replying stuff to him, sitting at her desk. Her hands, delicate, thin, with pointy knuckles holding her pen suspended above a sheet of paper as she was talking back to him, were a delight. She was always nice, asking him questions too, caring, apparently. She had the most beautiful eyes, of a doe, dark with long eyelashes, with very expressive eyebrows. Her mouth was the shape of a heart and the color of a rose, and her cheeks sprayed by a little collection of adorable freckles. She was very white, her mid-length brown hair always loosely tied up in a huge barrette like people wore in the 90¡¯s or as a low pony tail, leaving some wavy locks free, brushing softly against her shoulders. When she smiled, her entire face exploded with it and two dimples appeared on the sides of her mouth, driving Barry crazy. She had perfect teeth, their line following her smile like a roller coaster wagon. Her chin was square, her nose possessed a strict bridge in the middle of full cheeks and on top of a fattened throat, so the mix of softness and hardness on her features created an excellent end result. When she moved, erased the board, wrote the date neatly in the corner, when she passed handouts to the class, she did so with a strange grace. She was not one of those ladies who carried herself like a ballet dancer, no, she was just walking normally, but she had the habit of raising her pinky finger through whatever she was doing, slightly tilting her head as she was speaking or listening, pursing her lips when she was jotting down something at the desk, which created iridescent butterflies in Barry¡¯s gut. One day, those butterflies would be replaced by a steel bullet and he would end up crashing into Ms White¡¯s apartment to ask her to save his life, but the incident was still years away. Some girls said her class was boring, to the point of wishing a fire erupted at school to put a stop to it. Some boys said that her voice was sleep-inducing. Her teaching style, opposed to her teaching desire which seemed to be burning inside her, was very old-fashioned and the most dreary of all, but Barry persevered for a few months, even writing her a poem about volcanoes, which she ¡®absolutely loved¡¯ ¡°Oh my god, Barry!¡± she exclaimed, her super animated eyebrows like two independent caterpillars on the top part of her head doing a little dance from the series of emotions she was feeling, ¡°I absolutely love this! Especially how you made volcanoes rhyme with nose!¡± He nodded, very proud of himself. The poem was shit. He had lazily just Googled rhyming words with all the different things you had to know about volcanoes and tried to assemble them into sentences with no rhythm but he knew that she would be touched. ¡°Yeah. I was inspired when you said that you wished you had been a vulcanologist¡± "Really" she couldn''t believe it, flattered, "in Scandinavia we have that special and capricious volcano, Eyjafjallaj?kull, it''s a very particu--" At this point he already had discontinued listening to her, "I, too, wish to become a vulcanologist, one day" he lied. ¡°Oh my god, that¡¯s fantastic! You¡¯re going to ace the test then¡± He always squinted and frowned when he heard that comment back from her: class, grades, tests. She was so obsessed with turning in homework on time and with exams, assessments, slide shows! Jesus, dreary and annoying and demanding academics were not Barry¡¯s strong suit, so he struggled hard to pass through her continuous poking and quizzing and evaluating of her group and seriously wondered how anyone could enjoy their high school experience like this, like, doing actual work, and had serious doubts about being able to keep this up. His relief from the merciless pace and depressive requirements of Geography class, a subject for which he had no interest, came when he also realized that his humoring and bonding strategy to Ms White was not working at all. Of course, being a nice little Barry on his seat, with all his material ready, smiling at her when she stood in front of the class, raising his hand to answer her very boring questions, she liked him, a lot, she was very fond of him. But she was equally fond of everyone else who was a decent kid, he saw, and even some who sucked at Geography or sometimes skipped her class but apologized, and even students with whom there could occasionally be tensions. He was just an ordinary letter in her alphabet. Flagrantly, Barry felt different from those other teenagers that Ms White seemed to cherish on top of her list, or with whom she had an extra pinch of a relationship other than handing out papers and collecting them, the students who talked to her, greeted her, asked her about her day, commented something clever in class, asked her advice, confided with her. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. First of all, he was very handsome, but he wasn¡¯t sure at all that this quality of his would cut it when it came to teachers. Teachers, some very strange and unexciting creatures, didn¡¯t seem moved by their students¡¯ beauty or ugliness, rather reacting to incredibly dumb things such as homework turned in on time or a special twist in a school project, a perfectly presented slide-show, a question asked that would trigger an inflamed and party-pooping monologue about whatever they were eager to convey to the new generation. Were teachers also like this outside of school, like, looking for hookups or spouses that would present such spotless academic attributes? That was scary shit to imagine. Second of all, he was a mutant. He had superpowers, and he was beginning to feel them for real and to acquire a certain control over them. Once, he had even prevented a person from getting hit by a car, without being noticed, making the headlines on the local paper : MYSTERIOUS FORCE PUSHES WOMAN OUT OF CAR¡¯S WAY, SAVING HER LIFE. He felt on top of the world but that, also, was something that nobody knew about and that Ms White would never be able to acknowledge and admire, since he was never going to tell a soul. He had seen too many science fiction movies where the weirdo with special abilities gets locked up in a lab and experimented on for the rest of his life, eventually leading to apocalypse, and steampunk programs rated very low on Rotten Tomatoes. The idea came to him at the end of a Tuesday, last period being Geography, in the early Spring of his first high school year. That day was incredibly hot for the beginning of the season, promising thunderstorms by mid-week, and the air conditioning hadn¡¯t been wired to be working so soon, so everyone was sagging and sticky, suffering, making fans out of papers, getting rid of sweaters. Sitting at his desk that day, he noticed that Ms White was a bit unkempt, her hair having almost entirely escaped her bun, her cheeks flushed. She had taken off her sweater to hang it neatly on the back of her seat and it was the first time he saw her bare shoulders. She was old, Barry saw, and her skin was not as flawless and radiant as girls his age¡¯s, and she was much less toned than a fifteen year-old softball player or basic young lady entering a growth spur, but she had nice arms, lovely elbows, and, under her sleeveless blouse, he could guess the curvature of her kidney drop, the small of her back, and her breasts on the other side, bouncing around nicely as she moved. She had a nice body for an old woman, and an acceptable ass. Barry sat down in front of her and waited, troubled by the charm the vision of her was producing in him; he wanted to reach out to her, slowly grab the locks of hair released from the barrette¡¯s grip and brush them off her face, un-sticking them from her sweaty neck, and French kiss her with lots of tongue. But right away, the electricity in the air had made him feel there was something different about the day. Ms White was not happy about the endless requests for extensions of deadlines in their current project, and she called the students lazy, opportunists, her hands on her waist. She could be strict sometimes and very direct, as all teachers are, but usually, she kept her cool. Someone raised their hand and asked about the rubric for the academic task they were discussing, and Ms White was fuming : ¡°Fantina, seriously? You are waiting to reach the end of the project duration to ask me this? Figure it out, I¡¯m sorry, this is unacceptable¡± That was the moment where laughter and shouting occurred in the hallway next to her classroom, entering her sacred teaching quarters through the door left open because of the heat, and Barry saw, with his young Freshman eyes, Ms White lose her shit. She trotted across the room with her hands rolled into fists, fury on her face, her very unique eyebrows frowning and re-frowning, and she yelled : ¡°what¡¯s going on in here?¡± Silence. The class turned around to mildly appreciate the entertainment, although most of the group was dozing off due to the high temperature and a humidity that was injecting pockets of wet air underneath the wallpapers, resembling some ugly pustules. ¡°We are uh¡­ rehearsing before a skit¡± the students from the hallway explained, ¡°the teacher allowed to¡­¡± ¡°Which teacher?¡± Ms White barked. ¡°Mr ¡­ O¡¯Donovan?¡± one student answered timidly. ¡°Jesus. Out of all days, today!¡± And then they heard her, after she disappeared from their view further into the hallway, knock on the open door of Mr O¡¯Donovan¡¯s room and severely demand from him that he had a bit of respect for some other classes going on at the moment and, not waiting for his reaction, she paced back in the direction of the classroom where she had left Barry and his peers. They were exchanging amused looks at this point, ¡°wow, she¡¯s an angry bitch!¡± he heard from someone. ¡°Giving shit to the English teacher like that?¡± ¡°Man, that¡¯s tough, in front of his students like that?¡± ¡°Teacher¡¯s on her period for sure¡± Barry said nothing, just waiting for what was next. His heart was pounding against his ribs. ¡°And what about our skit?¡± the students in the corridor asked as she passed them. ¡°Your skit? You little fennecs, you¡¯ll just have to swallow it down for now, because, breaking news, there are some other lessons going on at the moment, and we cannot learn with your cacophony!¡± Everyone knew that, on school grounds, little fennecs was the politically correct form for little shits and, ¡®swallow it¡¯ a nice way to say to someone that they could shove something up their asses, so Barry was beginning to feel extremely pleased by what he was seeing and hearing. Ms White¡¯s voice, when she was pissed, had an animalistic tone, raw, sourdine, cutting like a blade. He realized he really really liked that about her and everything started happening very fast. She closed the door on her way back into their classroom, didn¡¯t slap it but pushed it into its edges with exasperation, secured it with a little bump. She walked back, head high, to her spot in front of the black board where she sat on her stool, smoke coming out of her ears. A torrential rain of blames fell down on her from Barry¡¯s classmates : ¡°Ms White why do you hate theater so much?¡± ¡°Ms White why did you yell at those innocent kids?¡± ¡°Ms White couldn¡¯t you just take a chill pill?¡± ¡°Ms White, so you think Geography is more important than English and stuff?¡± She let it rain, pour, as she was breathing hard to get rid of the heat in her head and doing her best to ignore the assault of negative comments, and only reacted when she heard: ¡°Ms White, what the fuck is wrong with you?¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± she stood up from her stool, putting her hand as a visor, squinting her eyes. ¡°Who said that?¡± Barry hesitantly lifted his hand in a new kind of silence, thick, dense. Those were Freshmen, he would remember a long time afterwards, and they were still young enough to be shaken quiet by the use of the F-word in the group. ¡°Barry, what did you just say to me?¡± Ms White stepped closer to his desk, looking down at him with piercing eyes. She didn¡¯t appear challenged in suspecting him of a crime while he had been good so far, she seemed unsurprised. ¡°Sorry¡± he giggled again, a bit lost, feeling like a person with a foot in two separate boats floating away from each other, ¡°I was just going with the flow here, I don¡¯t¡­ actually have an opinion on theater, I don¡¯t kn¡± ¡°I asked you: what did you say to me¡± she repeated, her tone now cold as ice, and some delicious chills twirled around his spine all the way from his butt to the base of his skull. He was sweating profusely. Ice and fire. ¡°I said ¡®what in the world is wrong with you¡¯ but¡­¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t say in the world¡± she corrected flatly. ¡°Oh come on¡­¡± someone started protesting in the corner of the class, but Ms White cut out the attempt with one snap of her fingers at the end of an arm she darted outstretched in the blink of an eye, not even looking at the interruption, just maintaining her stare into Barry¡¯s. The snap was loud, crisp, sexy, its echo reverberated in the heat. ¡°I said the F-word¡± Barry admitted, reconnecting effortlessly with his usual default approach to school and relationships with school staff, which was unapologetic and raw. ¡°What F-word?¡± ¡°I said fuck¡± this was such a relief, a breakthrough from the good little Barry attitude he was struggling to maintain in Geography class, and he felt exhilarated. Ms White, on the other hand, was unmoved. ¡°How dare you say that word in my class?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d hear it¡± he answered honestly. ¡°We don¡¯t use those words at school¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Are you crazy? He asked himself. It was Ms White, his favorite teacher, he had a fucking crush on her, she awoke some feelings in his body that were similar to the ones triggered by girls his age but in a different manner, a more subtle, nuanced manner, and he was holding his ground, he, her student, in front of her? He must have been mad! ¡®Madness¡¯ he recalled from one of his favorite peplum movies, itself directed out of one of his favorite grandiose comic books ever, ¡®madness? This is SPARTA!!!¡¯ Calm down, he told himself. This is not Sparta. Not yet anyway. ¡°Why not?¡± Ms White said, ¡°well because here, here, is a place of learning. What if one day you get a job and you haven¡¯t learned to select the most reasonable items of language, and you tell your boss the F-word or the S-word or the K-word ¨Che would forever wonder what that K-word was, for the life of him, he couldn¡¯t tell¡ª and you get your little butt fired on the spot?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll just get another job¡± ¡°You will just get another job?¡± They stared at each other, the heat blowing up in the room, the smell of sweat, melting graphite from the pencils, rancid, iron-filled, the smell of chalk filling everyone¡¯s nostrils. Ms White was looking at him silently, no more anger on her face, just a normal irritated teacher face, eyes locked on him, her arms crossed under her boobs. ¡°Give me your student ID¡± she demanded of him. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You heard me. I¡¯m calling your home after class. You have to learn manners, Barry¡± He gave it to her, his student card, while maintaining her gaze, doing his best to look as annoyed as she was, while inside, he was bursting with joy and excitement. He watched her slowly walk back to her desk and, in the persisting quietness, write down the information from his little card. She handed it back to him but didn¡¯t let go when he seized it in his hand. ¡°You will learn some manners here, not just Geography. Is that clear?¡± ¡°I guess¡± ¡°You do not guess, you will say it now¡± ¡°I will¡± ¡°You will what?¡± ¡°I will learn some uh¡­ what was that again?¡± ¡°Fo-cus¡± ¡°Uh¡­ manners¡± he said, pretending to be unsure, uninterested. He could see that she was not shaken by their newly birthed sort of interaction, that perhaps, in the back of her mind, due to some experience of training, she had anticipated it, she had gone through that reverse from cozy to affront before, and his mind was kind of blown. As the class resumed in the suffocating heat, he realized how happy he was. Had he ever been more aroused in his short life? The answer was a close no between that event and the time he had seen Jolene and Samantha make out in the hallway. Normal everyday Ms White was pretty, beautiful, graceful. Emulating strength through her reserved approach to life, sparkling merriness when she was ditching compliments generously. Funny when she was boring and the only one pumped up by her lesson. Angry Ms White, snap, she was something else, she was something else, she was red-cheeked, her eyes darkened, menacing, her jaws tightened, and her hands had a life and an appeal of their own, her hands snapped fingers resonating against the walls. She was delightful. He had found how he would stir his relationship with his beloved Ms White into something much more on the list of his fortes and make sure she would never forget him: he was going to make her life at school Hell on Earth. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (3) 2020 Doorway When Eugenie White moved him from the shadow of her bedroom, where she had been hiding him, to the brighter part of her apartment, first of all, he had a difficult time journeying there. The distance from there to there was minuscule, a dozen steps at most, but walking was still a challenge for Barry. On this tedious trip between rooms, he learned that he was able to see the world in a new way, as a series of things that could carry him. The shoulder of a friend, the corner of a night table, the rim of an armoire, the metal hinges of a door, the edge of the sink in the bathroom, the threshold an arched gateway, the strong back of a chair. He limped there with one hand stuck on his stomach and the other one holding on for dear life. He couldn¡¯t land the complete sole of a foot on the left side and his shame about it was astronomical, but the pain in his belly quickly overcame the misery of his pride. He was fully immersed into deploring his torments and cringing about Eugenie White¡¯s typical teacher words of encouragement but, progressively, the light appeared and swelled in his field of vision. It was magnificent. Ms White¡¯s bedroom felt like it had been furrowed into the gloomiest angle of the city center, like a hole into a block of cement; it barely opened on a courtyard that was itself shunned from the sun, allowing only a quick passage of the star above their heads every day, and the courtyard was obscured by all the tall buildings around it. Her sleeping quarters often felt light-less, possessing the dimmest of bulbs under thick lampshades and, she would later explain, it had been one of the criteria that had rushed her picking that flat among others when she had been flat-hunting a decade or so ago. Barry already knew that story, of course, but he would keep that information to himself, for obvious reasons.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. She liked the darkness, she needed to hide. She was a vampire, or Batman. Completely fine by him. Progressively, the sunlight reached the tip of Barry¡¯s fingers as he was looking at his hand, wondering if the bathroom commode he was clinging to was strong enough to support his crossing of the tiny cubicle it was. The bathroom led to the living room. And the sunlight caressed Barry¡¯s hand and nourished him deeply as, opposite to Eugenie White¡¯s character, he longed for the rays of the sun and bathing in them and rebooting his system from their warms and glows. That small twinkle flashing on his fingernails was a glimmer of hope, and hope was suddenly more alive than ever in Barry¡¯s heart. After some days, he knew not to press on too much, mourning some faster epoch when he would dash through the city like a knife slicing a pie, now forced to always re-calibrate down his impulses for velocity. Every rushed movement shook the cumbersome block of concrete lodged diagonally inside his abdomen, and that rock was still scorching, still ablaze. But millions of kilometers away, the center of the solar system where his home planet was floating, a yellow dwarf ball of a same fire was calling on to him, gently, taking him by the hand, telling him, no pressure, get here when you can. He marched on, ignoring Ms White and her insufferable cheer. There is fire and there is fire. All sorts of fires. Fire is the great alchemizer. Had humans ever been able to accomplish anything without the promise of something excellent in return? Probably not, he saw. Was something like sunlight sufficient enough to do the trick? It was very likely that the motivation of sunlight could be sufficient When he moved to the living room and its intricate bizarrely-arranged space, it was kind of like a second birth for him. Without fire, there cannot be any rising from those ashes. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (4) Verge Now would start the process of establishing the foundations of Barry living in Ms White¡¯s apartment, and those foundations rested on a huge lie: he already knew the place, every corner of it. ¡°See, Barry, you will be sleeping here, on this futon, which I have opened for you, and which closes, whenever you feel like turning it back into a sofa. It¡¯s bigger than my bed, as a matter of fact, so you can roll around all you want¡± he had thrown her a curious eye, ¡°but not anytime soon, ¡®cause you are barely holding yourself together, you hear me?¡± There inside this picture frame you salvaged from the shattered bookshelves, he looked at it on a low cubic ledge located between the two windows, this is a picture of you and your aunt and uncle, they adopted you when your parents died in a car crash, you were just a little baby and they were on their way to picking you up at the daycare. Your dead father and your uncle look a bit Asian, because their grandparents were from Tajikistan. ¡°If you need more sheets or pillow cases, they are all located under the big drawers at the bottom of the bed in my room, remember those?¡± He couldn¡¯t remember those, as he had been too busy being in debilitating pain and spellbound and excited at the same time during the two weeks that had gone by. And this new coffee machine, you bought it when you got promoted to your new echelon, because you wanted to quit spending some much money on lattes at the shop. Those wind chimes had been gifted to her by her godmother, this enormous dried plant by her mentor during her first year of teaching. He was also familiar with the LED at the top of her window wall, just below the ceiling, and with how it needed three minutes of red flashing before producing normal light. She thought it was haunted by a ghost, named Lily, who was a Black woman. He knew all sorts of things. Where the vacuum cleaner was hidden, how to work the washing machine, the inverted stoves in the kitchen, ¡°I bought you some shorts and socks Barry and some uh, some shirts, next door, we have a nice shop, for basic things like that. You can¡¯t continue wearing my socks, you¡¯re destroying them¡± ¡°Speaking of destroy¡± Barry said timidly, grabbing the back of a chair, ¡°what¡¯s that?¡± In the middle of the room, something resembling a piece of hipster art was throning and drawing all the attention. Ms White had collected the books collapsed from the shelves Barry had wrecked while bolting in her little space, erected four towers with their piles, and topped the whole thing with a huge cardboard box of two meters by two, cleanly angled. Its wacky Scandinavian name faced the ceiling. She said ¡°our new table, Barry. Maybe when you are feeling better you can build it for us¡± Our table, he focused on his blinding pain to repress the smile that was menacing to explode on his face, ¡°I thought you were an independent woman¡± he joked, gasped ¨Cmaybe it was too soon. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°Nothing, hm. Of course I¡¯ll build it¡± Barry looked at Ms White, one of his ears was ringing and the prolonged vertical position was nauseating him, and his stomach hurt, but his eye traveled beyond her and caught sight of the large bed made out of the unfolded couch near one of French door windows, twin to the one where he had initially penetrated into this place. She had covered the mattress part of it and the thick cushions with some sky blue linen and drapes, half concealed by a fluffy blanket. The light was englobing it as if it was itself a piece of sky. She had gathered all her medical supplies of current use into a red box with a white cross on it, stored on the lower level of her glass coffee table. Around the futon and the coffee table, the apartment revealed itself. It was a strange flat, very narrow, very small, that had been designed to follow a loop. It opened on a long and dark corridor but, there, was also a hidden passage to the only real bedroom of the lodgings near the entrance door. The hallway led to the very open area where kitchen space, dining room and living room were stacked together. Ms White had disposed her furniture, before it broke, in a way that indicated the limits of the various slots of her home, closing the kitchen space with a tall fridge, indicating the start of the living area with her main couch, and color coding the different corners. Bending with the turn of the loop, one could access back to the bedroom through a pocket-sized bathroom. Barry felt overwhelmed with some next-level bliss. It was like stepping from the wardrobe into Narnia. ¡°Ill try to remember all this¡± he lied, I will build your table, re-invent your bookshelves from scratch, I will resurrect your plants, oh my God, those poor plants, he thought. Our table, our plants. She was holding a sticky brush for cat hair in her hand, pointing at everything. Wearing some stretchy jeans, a big jumper, some Halloween slippers, Ms White in her natural element was hard-player super-cozy; she was wearing her hair down, her face without a trace of makeup, her skin pale and droopy from exhaustion but looking like the surface of a peach, her tired eyes still very alive compared to the otherwise fatigued and sleepy state of the rest of her, because of the crazy moves of her eyebrows. ¡°I go to bed at nine o¡¯clock because I wake up so early, just ¡®cause, you know, capitalism¡± I know, Barry listened to her, ¡°I sleep with special medication, for which you have had a taste, I believe¡± she smiled a disarming smile at him, surprisingly at ease sharing a lot of intimate details of her existence, but he nodded respectfully, I know, Barry thought, I will not bring dishonor to your secrets, Ms White, I will treat them with respect and cherish them. She was on a roll ¡°meaning you can renovate the place with a hammer or have a karaoke party, I¡¯ll still sleep through it¡± She was a creature of the night, her personal space a cocoon flashing feebly out of the softest, most discreet candlelight. The little veins buzzing against the surface of her skin on her temples or underneath her eyes reminded him of a proteus, which was a blind cave-dwelling salamander that was sometimes also called an orm. That animal didn¡¯t need skin pigmentation, nor eyes for that matter, evolving in a light-less world. ¡°Why don¡¯t you keep the table as it is, its legs of books and the Ikea box as a top¡± ¡°What¡± ¡°I mean¡± he went for the chair on which he had been clinging, drained by bipedalism. One hand tight on his abdomen, he braced for the change of altitude and the landing on his butt, inhaled sharply ¡°aiille I¡¯m j j joking¡± ¡°I thought about it¡± the lint brush went from her left to her right hand, then back to the left. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Yes, it¡¯s¡­ hygge¡± Hygge. It was a word from where Eugenie White¡¯s ancestors came from, the Norse lands, Torne?lven, to be more exact. And there was a tall poster with the definition of hygge nailed next to the coat hanger of her entrance door, providing the newly arrived guests with the tone of the whole place. Ms White might as well have displayed a life-size cardboard model of herself and what she was wearing on a daily basis, with the caption underneath, This is what hygge is, motherfuckers. It meant, cultivating a pleasant and snug ambiance inside, or something like that, in order to recharge and to find strength from the core, from within. Grounding, rooting. The fact that it was spoken hugga in Swedish would never prevent Barry from pronouncing it hijj. He had to be faithful to his longest-running joke about refusing to memorize which country she was from, after all. She kept shaking her head at the sound, hiding her smile, pretending to shiver under the wrong vowels. ¡°And that¡± she went on, discarding the brush for her television remote control, ¡°is my PlayStation¡± ¡°Oh shit¡± Barry hadn¡¯t seen that coming. Now, that was something new. His eyes grew as wide as the vinyls she couldn¡¯t play anymore since he had sent her to crash against her old record player. Ms White pushed a couple of keys on the controller and wrote down the login pin on a piece of paper, and then the big screen above the fireplace popped on, opening on an interface, ¡°last time you use that console was¡± he squinted his eyes searching for the date in the bottom right corner, ¡°two years ago?¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. That was when his daily missions into the city had started and when he had begun stalking her, therefore, there was a gap of three or four years with some unknown events that had come after she had rebuilt her life solo with her cat following the end of her marriage, as well as between his high school graduation and now. At that turning point in Barry¡¯s existence, he had amassed a lot of random details about Eugenie White as in, randomly specific and biographically picky, such as the genetic heritage of her aunt, the age she was when her family moved across the ocean, the place where she had gotten married, the number of cars she had owned through time, but in contrast, he was missing some more banal information. ¡°Yeah it was my husband¡¯s¡­ my former husband¡¯s PlayStation. I fetched it from an old box at the bottom of my closet, for you¡± ¡°He left it to you?¡± ¡°I guess he was in a rush to move out and forgot it behind¡± Ms White said enigmatically. She started browsing the library, ¡°I¡¯m sure you can find some games to install that are better than¡­¡± she frowned, her hand as a visor on top of her eyes, ¡°GTA, some Hogwarts bullshit, wait, what¡¯s that? Rayman? Oh my god¡± Who the fuck would ever leave you, Ms White, Barry wondered, who would ever leave you AND a PlayStation, for fuck¡¯s sake? She continued scrolling down, ¡°Formula One¡± ¡°Uuu I like Formula One¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°Yes, I played many race car games before¡± ¡°So did I¡± she replied with great animation of her eyebrows, ¡°like what?¡± ¡°Motorfest mainly, when it came out, some old games like Grand Prix 2001¡± ¡°Old¡± ¡°Yeah like, super old¡± he realized his mishap too late, ¡°no I mean, oh lord¡ª¡± ¡°BARRY¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorryyy iii I¡¯m sorry¡± he buried his face in his hand. ¡°It¡¯s okay, those games are actually ancient, when you think about it¡± ¡°Why did you stop playing like, two years ago¡± He tried to change the subject. Damn the hygge sound, he really needed to start being careful with his use of the word old. Ms White looked at her feet, ¡°I don¡¯t know I felt¡­ stupid¡± ¡°If only your students knew¡± ¡°My students?¡± ¡°Yeah if, they knew you are a¡­ a gamer¡± they both laughed at the word, which was an exaggeration. ¡°They should never know, Barry, obviously¡± she kept smiling at him, finding the idea wild. ¡°But it¡¯s cool¡± he said ¡°Jesus¡± she stared at him, perplexed, ¡°you¡¯re still not getting it, are you? I don¡¯t want my students to think I¡¯m cool, I want them to obey me!¡± ¡°You mean respect you¡± ¡°Obey me¡± ¡°You mean esteem you¡± ¡°Obey me!!¡± they burst out laughing again. ¡°I keep forgetting that¡± Barry held himself tightly through the chuckles, then froze. He noticed a pair of crutches next to Ms White, their metal part sparkling under the sun, ¡°now what is that¡± She gazed back casually, pretending to look intensely at something on the PlayStation channel, replied, ¡°some canes, for your transportation¡± ¡°You must be kidding¡± ¡°I got them at the pharmacy¡± ¡°Thhat pharmacy?¡± he stretched his neck to point at the window with his head, ¡°that disgusting place that does apothecary too?¡± ¡°I sanitized them, don¡¯t worry¡± she acted unbothered, ¡°you seem to be quite familiar with the neighborhood!¡± ¡°I did a ll lot of missions here¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember seeing or hearing of any of them¡± ¡°You must have been at work¡± one bead of sweat came out on the top of his forehead, ¡°I¡¯m uh¡­ a superhero, I¡¯m not handicapped, I¡¯m just a little stiff¡± ¡°Let me tell you what¡¯s happening to you right now, why you can¡¯t walk straight¡± ¡°No need to exp¡ª¡± ¡°That bullet that hit you in the middle of your stomach, it was not in the middle per se, it went sideways¡± she bent her index finger and Barry shuddered at the thought, ¡°and in a normal clinic, with some real doctors, you would have an operation that would, I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not an expert¡± she held on through his skeptical stare, ¡°reconnect, I don¡¯t know, decrease the pressure from the nerves of your abdomen to your left leg, you see? There must be a pinch there, that keeps you from putting one foot after the other like a normal human¡± She sounded so much like her old teacher self at the moment, thrown into her lecture, that Barry stopped listening and just reminisced, and he only heard, ¡°no surgery¡± and then ¡°feet¡± and then ¡°exercises, like a lot¡± He didn¡¯t care. Ms White¡¯s past and present auras were mingling in front of his very eyes, singing a mingling song into his ears. There was magic in the air. ¡°I¡¯m not walking with a cane¡± he became aware he was covered with sweat. He had succeeded in annoying her, he could see and rejoice about it ¡°And how will you get around¡± she questioned The song of a siren, he thought ¡°I have you¡± ¡°Well Barry, sorry to break it to you but I have to get back to work, on Monday. I have taken too much time off to watch over you and I can¡¯t stay just to carry you around¡± ¡°How in the world did you manage to take all this time off by the way¡± Pain pain pain. Torment torment torment. ¡°It was¡­ easy¡± Ms White said, in a manner that betrayed that it had been anything but easy. A mad flash appeared in her eyes. What did she have to do in order to escape from work one weekend to another? Some chills the size of apples dropped along his spine. The teaching world was savage and inhumane. ¡°What if.. a mouse crosses on your floor and I accidentally step on it with the cane¡± Ms White tilted her head patiently, ¡°what the fuck are you talking about¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have mice here, in this downtown apartment?¡± When in doubt, he knew. ¡°My cat killed a mouse once¡± she agreed with him ¡°Are you¡± a pang of agony darted from the middle of his abdomen, blurring his sight ,¡±sss sure¡± Ms White¡¯s splendid eyebrows went their separate ways, one of them circumflexed and the other sitting straight. The plain paralyzed him for a second, so white iron infused that he had to hold himself to the table, ¡°you¡¯re okay, Barry?¡± ¡°When next will you give me something to uh¡± he breathed deeply, ¡°sleep¡± ¡°In an hour. That¡¯s why I wanted to switch you rooms. Barry, listen to me, I¡¯m going back to work on Monday¡± ¡°When¡¯s m m Monday?¡± ¡°The day after tomorrow. You need to be at this new place of residence, here, tonight, and use the canes, so you can be mobile¡± ¡°I can¡¯t¡± he saw, ¡°sit like this anymore, it¡¯s too agonizing, sorry, can you help me¡± ¡°Barryy, try to focus for a second¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious, can you uh¡­ help me up¡± A vague taste of vomit reached his molars. Ms White exhaled deeply, smiled at him with all the imperturbability in the world, something she could accomplish thanks to her lengthy experience with youngsters who couldn¡¯t concentrate beyond six minutes and requested most things out of an intergalactic feeling of entitlement. She had a hearty smile, which could transform into a smile with way too many teeth inside it, something entrancing. She got up and placed her head under his elbow, pulled him up with her. ¡°Soo heavy, you are as heavy as an elephant¡± she complained, but she was still smiling. A benevolent smile. ¡°An el¡­ el el elephant¡± Ms White scoffed, directing their path to traverse towards the bed corner, her legs curving under his weight ¡°a hippopotamus, come on, lower, now sit, Barry¡± He clenched his teeth, touching down so brutally that the piece of concrete inside his stomach was pushed up against his sternum, cramped into too tight a space. ¡°Look, success¡± she dropped him on the mattress ¡°it¡¯s alright Barry¡± she said softly, ¡°in about an hour, you will sleep again¡± ¡°Maybe even ff fifty minutes¡± ¡°No sir¡± she sighed, grabbed the remote control and started inspecting it, ill at ease, ¡°I have to be careful and not accidentally turn you into a drug addict. One hour is one hour¡± He rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, ¡°you don¡¯t know much about my superabitilies, I guess, Ms White. Addiction isn¡¯t possible for me¡± Like any time he struggled against the torture in his guts, she sat next to him and held his hand. It was something habitual now that didn¡¯t trigger any perceivable hesitation nor nervousness in her anymore. Barry knew that she was felt doubtful and adrift a vastness of unknowns that were not hygge at all, but once more, he admired that she was doing her best just to be a nurse, a watchful eye and a presence to him through his ordeal. It seemed that she proceeded out of an automatism, which was a reassuring structure for her. He was cold? She would raise the temperature of her heater. He was hot? She was bring him some ice cubes. She would feed him if he was hungry and hydrate him if he was thirsty. She would clean him up to avoid infections within the exposed and inflamed shreds of his skin. If he was in pain, she would give him a sleeping pill. If he was fighting painful hours, she would sit him and hold his hand encouragingly. She later on would paint a clearer picture of her autism to him, with the months to come, and describe her need for a repetitive system, for a precedent to base herself on in order to carry on. She would say that it made her feel like she never knew if the world approved of her way to respond to situations, that she just hoped for the best, that she rarely followed her heart in novel situations. He wondered if he would ever manage to poke that bubble and get to the real Ms White. He swore himself that he would try with all his might. ¡°So why can you get hurt from being shot but not from falling off a building?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± he chuckled, ¡°aiille fuuck¡± ¡°You actually don¡¯t know your own superabilities yourself!¡± she teased him ¡°Once I was also hit by a train¡± ¡°YOU WERE?¡± ¡°It was going slow, but still, it smashed right into me¡± ¡°And then?¡± ¡°Not a scratch¡± PART 2: The threshold of the Han (5) Starting point That she went back to school was a good thing. Barry acquired such a routine inside Eugenie White¡¯s apartment that he soon gave up on mistrusting. He had to live in the real world, and in the real world, she had accepted his presence and extended her hospitality indefinitely, given his situation, and he had to stop waking up in a sweat and his head at the foot of the bed with his fists ready to punch things around. There was no reason to continue paying attention to some murmurs that said that everything was too good to be true. It is not too good to be true. Is is true. It wasn¡¯t too good. It was just good. Excellent good. Except for getting shot by a gun two times, which was not good at all, but even that part was improving splendidly. He was getting used to the pain, and making note that it was quietly leaving him, little by little, departing from his gut, or forgetting to constantly tug at his movements. Sometimes he felt like the fire inside of him was becoming bored of visiting him, spending more time burning elsewhere. It reminded him of that story about human consciousness not being located in the brain, contrary to popular belief, which provided a justification for how moments of nearing death let people remain conscious while their grey matter was underfed oxygen and they linked with awareness elsewhere than inside. Maybe it was the same with pain. Everyone gravitating around a core of pleasure and pain like a vending machine or a sun, attached to it with some vibrating umbilical cord, allowing the drizzling of its contents according to stories or calamity, trials, tribulations, gratification, taking and giving in turn. Maybe the entity in the center had an awareness and choice as well, about whom they preferred to haunt or shower, simply pinch on the surface, impale or caress, force-feed or just sustain. He woke up fresh every morning as soon as she left for work. The sound of her keys rattling in the lock of the door pulled him out of a very light sleep and then, it was impossible to go back there, to the land of dreams. The realization that he was still there, in her space, just at the other end of her corridor, was too crazy and nowhere near becoming a habit, so he refused to sleep again and lied awake and granted himself the time to take it all in. With the swelling daylight in the living room, he took the time to admire everything around him, the things he had observed and wondered about when he had spied on her in the past. He marveled at being allowed to operate inside Eugenie White¡¯s universe, drinking coffee inside her ridiculous mugs, which were almost all holiday-themed or souvenirs from various boring American cities, scrubbing himself with her soap, switching her lamps off and on, watering her plants. He kept the apartment clean, always did the dishes, always made his bed tidy. If his father could see him, since he was the man who had taught him to square a bed impeccably, he would be proud. Barry assembled Eugenie White¡¯s new dining room table, followed by the bookshelves they brought back from Ikea. She was concerned enough about his possible boredom to offer to him to join the venture, at the condition that he used his canes pacing through the endless aisles of the vast home goods store, which was upsetting at an astronomical level, but Barry¡¯s protesting ego had obviously been toned down by his excitement. He knew that she was just worried about him being cooped up inside this small flat all week ¡°Do you think I should go for pine as they were before? It¡¯s hygge but a bit dull¡± She had genuinely asked him. He advised her for dark brown, and she gave it a try. ¡°Maybe you ought to buy new picture frames for the ones that exploded from your walls¡± he suggested ¡°You know what Barry? I don¡¯t even remember what they were. It¡¯s a good indication that I didn¡¯t really need them. This year is going to be my minimalist year, thanks to you¡± She always said stuff like that, such as ¡°BARRY HOW DID I LIVE BEFORE WITHOUT YOU HERE¡± when he built her furniture and fixed the clog in her sink, tightened the pipes above her toilet, got her drier to run smoothly again. She had been the same in the classroom, speaking to students when they deserved a praise, even the smallest of praises, or when she had been grateful for his aid plugging the screen above the white board into the correct outlet so she could show a video to the class, Eugenie White was like that, enthusiastic about the good things in people, ¡®Barry you are a life saver, how would I get any technology to work without you kids?¡¯ ¡°How have you managed to stay alive this whole time?¡± he joked back to her ¡°Exactly¡± They seldom ate together, uninterested in former supper traditions, unwilling to recreate a family atmosphere or going over how their day had been in the evening time, but Barry suspected that the prospect of instating a meal habit between them was too much pressure for Eugenie White and her high-functioning autism. However, every once in a while, they did, ordered some sushi and sat together nibbling on them with soy sauce while watching a movie. That one time, they had done just that, playing the old Abyss, another James Cameron feat, on her big television set above the fireplace. But Barry could no longer help it, and asked: ¡°Why are you so nice to me?¡± ¡°So nice to you?¡± ¡°Yes like, nice nice¡± She waved her index finger at him, communicating that she wished to finish watching that scene when the little rat in the caged box starts breathing under water, and then she paused the film and she tilted her head towards him, ¡°what do you mean Barry¡± ¡°You saying stuff like I¡¯m useful ot whatever, like I¡¯m big help or whatever, like your life has¡± he hesitated, ¡°has some new nice things now that I am here or whatever¡± ¡°It¡¯s not or whatever¡± she said, fighting to get just the right quantity out of a wasabi dip from the plastic tray with her knife, ¡°I¡¯m not speaking some empty words. Actually I like having you here¡± ¡°Buut you don¡¯t seem to like people, Ms White¡± he dared to say, ¡°you don¡¯t¡­ go out or hang out with people or whatever¡± ¡°Yeah¡± she sipped on some bubble water, ¡°I¡¯m kind of a hermit I know. People drain me, take all my energy, people are idiots¡± ¡°But you do?¡± he really went for it, bracing himself, ¡°you do like to have me here?¡± He tightened his fingers around his chopsticks. ¡°Of course! If I had known you are such a pleasant individual, I wouldn¡¯t have freaked out so much about you appearing on my balc¡ª¡± her eyelids fluttered, ¡°Uhu, yes of course I would have still lost my shit that you¡¯d been shot and needed me to practice medicine while your issues were so grave¡± she chuckled, spreading the wasabi on her salmon bite, ¡°but I would have been in a hygger mood¡± They stared at each other in the silence for a minute, chewing their roll, and she said, ¡°you didn¡¯t give me that impression at school, you were more, like, a train wreck¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°You are good at eye contact, for an autistic person¡± ¡°My students have helped me improve. Looking at them in the eye is essential to building a rapport and making things work¡± Barry had never heard that before, and he found himself fascinated. ¡°It¡¯s called Fake it ¡®til you Make it¡± ¡°But they are so mean¡± he thought, we are so mean, your students. ¡°Nastiness isn¡¯t something a lot of neuro-divergent people fear, you see? It¡¯s more like, no truth, no realness, the absence of a structure, that presents the worst situation. Adults are constantly giving off a dishonest vibe, playing with code that feels obscure and threatening. Teenagers, on the contrary, are raw enough to reassure me¡± she concluded, followed by her flicking a grain of rice in his direction, and missing. ¡°Your aim is shit¡± he mocked her ¡°And your interpersonal skills are way higher than I thought. Also you clean my house and empty the dishwasher, I mean, what more can I ask¡± He eyed the rest of the sushi on his plate, knowing he couldn¡¯t eat them. His whole being and his soul were too full of happiness, he wouldn¡¯t be able to have another bite or he would burst. Water, water would be nice He knew that he would keep that conversation in a very special spot in his mind, and heart, the corner devoted to precious immaterial belongings, and he knew that he would replay it over and over when things got difficult. ¡°It¡¯s mesmerizing to witness, your recovery is remarkable¡± she added and pressed the resume button on the remote control. Terence would be fed some leftover sushi tonight. Nonetheless, fear gripped him, once more: should he continue to bounce back and heal so quickly, and endanger the reason of his stay at her place? Barry was facing more unknowns than he had before and sometimes, he felt powerless, he, the Bolt, in front of the choices he had to make so rapidly on a daily basis, sending some desirable or undesirable butterfly effect into motion. He learned to clean himself up and his injuries on his own as fast as he could. It was evident that Eugenie White¡¯s cornerstone to maintain their new relationship viable and in a state if un-ambiguity was to imprint on the way she interacted with her youngsters at school. Sharing that awkward moment every day where he sat with the top of his body unclothed in front of her and she had to torture him, was becoming overwhelming for her as they learned to know each other better and were no longer total strangers. He saw that she needed to compartmentalize things and to ensure their roles were well defined. The bathroom settings didn¡¯t help, with the space so confined ¡°It¡¯s not difficult¡± she explained, ¡°once a day, you change your dressings, put them into the bin, run some water, hot hot water, wait until you see some big-ass vapor, and then spray that rubbing alcohol on the scar on your stomach, say a prayer, ¡®cause it¡¯s stingy, and then wrap yourself up again¡± If she had marveled at his overt interpersonal skills, she would have delighted, had she uncovered his secret intra aptitudes. Discerning which Barry to show at which moment had been something he had trained himself to do very early on, juggling between his son status, one butt cheek on the use-your-power-to-fix-your-family-situation chair while the other cheek was sitting on the I-was-raised-better-than-that stool, juggling between being his father¡¯s child and a mutant and a high school student and a nice one but a wild one and wondering where the real Barry was in the middle of all that, over a long long time. For that reason he could relate to her a little bit when it came to not following her heart and dispersed codes of society. She had made such a carnage when trying to close the hole in the middle of his abdomen, and Barry laughed with a mix of fascination and grief and amusement at the sight of it ¨Ca comma-shaped mark, bearing some purple clouded-ness around it, a massacre, really. With time, humidity in the air would force him into hiding under a pile of pillows again, rolled into a ball of papier mach¨¦. Rainy weather or huge magnetic fields of thunderstorms that the weatherman had not even announced yet. And still he would just wait those moments out without a fuss, suspended in a meditative state and replaying their discussion with the image of her relaxed face above the sushi speaking those delectable words to him. He would make fun of her for the rest of his life when it came to her poor stitching performance but, he saw, that was such a small price to pay for something like that. Something like what? he heard Something like. Home. ¡°Barry why are you not walking on both feet¡± She asked him at Ikea. She was pulling hard at a price tag from an industrial-looking night table in the bedroom area. There must have been a knot in the elastic that attached the little piece of paper to the item. ¡°I am¡± he protested ¡°You are skipping with your crutches¡± ¡°It¡¯s faster this way¡± ¡°BARRY, I mean¡± she lowered her voice as a group of moms with children passed them, loaded with plushies and a cloud-shaped lamp and arguing about the way to follow the confusing arrows and signs of the store, ¡°I got those for you so you would walk better, not for you to jump around like a fucking kangaroo¡± He gazed down at his left foot which was clearly hovering off the ground, ¡°you want to have one leg that feels like jelly for the rest of your life? That¡¯s how you get one leg that feels like jelly for the rest of your life¡± Two of the ladies with their stroller threw an intrigued look at them and Barry wondered if people thought they were mother and son. For some reason he found that possibility exhilarating. ¡°Right¡± he fought against his smile. Angered Ms White was still the version of her he found the most alluring. She didn¡¯t seem aware of it. Barry didn¡¯t know what to do. They ended up their Ikea mission with one teddy and one scratch board, both items destined to the cat, and some vegetarian hot dogs at the front desk, waiting for her new bookshelves to be delivered from the storage room. ¡°Do you know how to drive a stick?¡± Eugene White asked ¡°A stick? Like a broomstick, like Harry Potter?¡± She laughed and dropped some ketchup on the table, landed her elbow in it without noticing, ¡°I mean a stick shift, I mean a manual car¡± ¡°Yes¡± he answered promptly ¡°You wanna drive home? That¡¯ll make you used to moving both of your fucking feet again¡± Eugenie White owned a very pretty Lexus car, greenish hue. Before that, she had driven a Kia, and before that a Ford Taurus, even a faded red van when she had to leave the Kia at the repair station for a month, and previously, a Mazda that had been so second-hand that its passenger door opened in the sharpest of turns. Her first vehicle, bought by her uncle and aunt before she decided to become independent, had been a Citro?n ZX. She let him drive them home, fight for a parking space in their busy corner of the city center, whistling with admiration at his patience in the task to parallel-shoving a rectangle of metal between two mammoth pick-up trucks on a minuscule street, not even biting into the curb. ¡°You are ready¡± she whispered when he turned off the ignition. ¡°You allleadty¡± he said with an accent, ¡°do you get it, Avatar?¡± ¡°Close enough, you¡­¡± he saw the wheels turning inside Eugenie White¡¯s skull, ¡°you get your own Ikran¡± ¡°How will I know if he chooses me?¡± ¡°He will try to kill you, Jakesully¡± she replied ¡°Astounding¡± ¡°Death from above¡± ¡°Actually, death from above was not the Ikran, I think, it was Toruk Makto¡± ¡°Aah yes, Barry, you¡¯re right!¡± she frowned, her face serious, ¡°Toruk Makto came to us in time of great sorrows¡± ¡°Toruk Makto¡± letting go off the wheel, Barry put a hand on his heart, ¡°I will fly with you¡± ¡°All the Navi¡¯ people know the story¡± ¡°So Hollywood¡± he said ¡°That movie is so dumb¡± she agreed with a smile full of her long teeth, ¡°you see, thanks to you now, I can quote Avatar at dinner parties¡± ¡°What dinner parties?¡± he threw the car keys at her ¡°Whatever, let¡¯s get the bookshelves together!¡± ¡°You mean me¡± She rolled herself into her winter scarf, pointed a finger at him, ¡°I mean you¡± She meant you, she meant him, he thought, she means me. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (6) Inside out He learned how to knit, and became a true crime fanatics. Talks about unsolved cold cases would carry them late into the night on the weekend. Another thing they discussed endlessly was Dune. He listened to it as an audio book as he started the project to craft a new Bolt suit from scratch and then, he discovered that Ms White owned five more volumes. She almost exclusively read science-fiction and romance. Barry had a look at those and, determined to educate himself about this unexplored part of his former teacher, he even finished one. It was a half-humorous half-drama fiction and pretty engaging, once passed the first ten chapters and once the reader became attached to the characters. He learned that if people in a serious and committed relationship were not happy about their lovemaking, communication was the only way to fix it, he learned it by skimming through Ms White¡¯s romance books and eavesdropping on her phone call to the only person she talked to on her phone, her best friend from university, who lived in Great Britain. Time difference and their personalities, that seemed to be mirrors of each other¡¯s seclusion, made those phone calls rare. As soon as she closed the door of her bedroom for privacy, Barry tiptoed to sit right outside and avidly listen, disregarding her revendication for secrecy. It was such a mysterious part of her that her had never got the chance to be introduced to, he couldn¡¯t resist! Those two ladies talked about the friend¡¯s children, their lives as singles, latest news in the world, they complained about their jobs, they exchanged some recipes but they were spending fifty percent of the call reviewing the last dating experiences from the friend¡¯s life. On the contrary to Eugenie White, she hadn¡¯t given up on finding a man. And communication about intimacy compatibility was super hard, apparently, because bringing up a lack of pleasure automatically made the person on the other side assume they were totally bad at sex, or something. So you had to proceed differently, think about a creative way to lead your partner on a new path in the bedroom, suggest, ask very specific questions. Barry didn¡¯t understand any of that and it all sounded very complicated and exhausting. He slept with lots of girls all the time and he had never heard anyone complain or never seen anyone struggling to have tons of fun.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. He came back home one Sunday with ten more volumes of Dune and she was astonished, ¡°Barry, don¡¯t be a heretic! Those are the prequels, quels and sequels written by Brian Herbert, the son of Frank Herbert! They¡¯re a bunch of nonsense¡± Barry read them anyway and didn¡¯t think they were bad at all nor cause for a tremorous sense of scandal in the sci-fi nerd community.. And Dune was something they liked to talk about over coffee in the morning, over quesadillas in the evening. Was the character a hero or villain? Was peace to be imposed? Was dying necessary in order to see? How many names and nicknames and appellations could a protagonist sustain? ¡°No one can teach you to see¡± Barry remarked, quoting Avatar. ¡°Except for the water of life¡± But sometimes Ms White was so retreated inside her bubble that he would suddenly lift his nose from his activity and wonder if she even was home. Only once did he completely thought she was actually absent and, listening avidly to a novel from Stephen King in his headphones, he stepped casually into the bathroom to pee at the same time as she was taking a bath. Ms White could sometimes be too gone, he saw, but he laughed at the memory. She had screamed at him and, triggering no reaction as he had the volume in his ears fully turned on, she violently splashed him with water and threw a bottle of shampoo at his head and then wrapped herself in the shower curtain, causing its rail to collapse, added the bottle of conditioner to her attack ¡°GET THE FUCK OUT BARRY!¡± He had turned around, startled, and started to speak : ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I totally didn¡¯t see anyth¡ª¡± ¡°OUTOUTOUT OUT!!¡± She waited for him to be gone and used her teacher¡¯s voice : ¡°from now on, it¡¯s doors locked when someone in the house is using the bathroom, understood?¡± He sometimes forgot how much older she was than him, sometimes saw her as his roommate, a very kind, chores oriented, servicing roommate to him. Sometimes as an endless source of comedy, sometimes as a tough nut to crack. But what he gave her in exchange ¨Cnot that an exchange seemed expected¡ª was her camper. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (7) Precipice He returned to the apartment one evening and saw Ms White has fallen asleep on top of a pile of quizzes. She had confessed to her that many piles of assessments had been misplaced over the course of her career, but those ones had defeated her. Before he headed to the shower after his evening run, Barry paused one second, looked at his fairy godmother, Ms White, her mouth open in her sleep against the couch cushion, sometimes she snored, sometimes she was drooling, sometimes she was looking angelic. He found her absolutely beautiful no matter the circumstances. There was a flawlessness about her, through her goofiness, her self-deprecating humor, her bitter bits of scattered and disorderly wits. There was a grace he had gotten addicted to, something tranquil, nurturing. The cat never failed to cuddle against her, in the little spot behind her legs or being the little spoon against the warmth of her belly or even nose to nose and, on that one occasion, Barry sat up and engaged in a staring contest with the pet, kneeling by the couch. His name was Terence, and he was deaf and almost blind on one eye but Barry could swear he followed his movements when Ms White wasn¡¯t watching. Little bastard was just acting like he was handicapped so get some lifts and some treats. He spoke to the animal, that one night, whispering, ¡°I understand you¡±, he said, shaking his head in rendition, ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you a secret, and you, little sweet creature, will not, I repeat, will not, tell anyone, okay?¡± The cat looked at him with eyes full of contempt and seen-it-all boredom, so Barry went on ¡°I wish I could live my whole life like this, like, stay here, like this, with you motherfucker¡± he hesitated, ¡°forever¡± He started slow bolting inside the apartment, cautiously, some little jumps of supernatural time scramble at a time, minding the walls and the furniture. Ms White had created an ample area in the middle, retreating the couch, dinner table, the armchair and everything she could at the maximum but, after living there for a while, Barry had a muscle memory of where everything was placed, and could smoothly join one spot with the other without knocking anything over. Ms White was either doing something on her computer, like, writing some reports that would put anyone to sleep, or peeling some carrots or stirring a salad bowl and pretending she didn¡¯t care or find this amazing but, some other times, she simply dropped everything she was doing and sipped on her herbal tea and watched without masking her wonder. ¡°What does it feel like?¡± she asked him shyly, not convinced she was allowed to even ask the question ¡°Bolting?¡± So he described to her, that although his ability dealt with time, it felt more like space for him. Visually, everything discontinued going forward, some strains of color testifying of the sudden immobility of the objects around him, as if echoes had a form the eye could see, smearing over a dissolving canvas, drying out and evaporating upwards into the clouds, sooner or later melting within the freeze. Sounds dropped at the bottom of his ears, trampled by silence. a wind blew like a hurricane for a second before stopping entirely. How throwing his hand forward or hunching his shoulders created this reverberation into time? He didn¡¯t know. Everything flashed. He moved underwater, he moved through goo and yet, at the same time, each of his moves felt like crystal cutting an icy layer of air. All the seconds on a human clock became minutes and Barry had learned how to count them in the back of his mind. ¡°I have a bolting hand and a receiving hand¡± he said, ¡° the bolting hand is creating movement, and the receiving hand recycles it¡± ¡°Do you know who Sally Ride is?¡± Ms White asked ¡°That¡¯s an awesome name¡± ¡°She is a female astronaut, but whatever, she was a tortured soul. One time she said she wished that she received as a gift an extra six hours per day that no one knew about, outside of the normal twenty-four, to be herself¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone can stop time for more than three or four minutes¡± Barry retorted. He knew he had heard the name Sally Ride before, somewhere, but he couldn¡¯t place it. Extra time to be herself. ¡°But with four more minutes adding to four more minutes, you can turn in homework on time¡± ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± ¡°Yes¡± she waved him off, ¡°tell me about the¡­ the sprint¡± she lowered her eyes as if she¡¯d said a bad word. ¡°The sprint?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how you call it, I saw it once, on TV¡± ¡°If you saw it then my career would be over, Ms White¡± he laughed politely at how ridiculous that statement wasLove this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°No, they slowed it down, the footage, of course, it was zoomy, and grainy, but we could see that the Bolt, I mean¡­ you, were going in a straight line. We could see a human silhouette¡±. The sprint. He scratched his nose, ¡°I doubt that they slowed it down enough but yes, that¡¯s the best part¡± he smiled excitingly ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know how to describe it, it¡¯s kind of like a you-had-to-be-there situation¡± ¡°Oh please, come on, don¡¯t be like that, Barry, regal me with your tales¡± she begged, tugging at his sleeve ¡°try¡± He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, ¡°I guess it feels like¡­ falling. But in a nice way, like falling in a dream, you know? When you know you¡¯re dreaming, and you¡¯re falling from a cliff. All is quiet, the body is boosted forward by the bolt, and a blue color is covering everything, but at the same time, you can see everything ten thousand times better. Every little detail of the landscape around you. It gives a buzz, because your brain cannot process all this seeing and absorbing so quickly without losing its usual lens through which it sees clearly¡± He opened his eyes, looked up at the ceiling, focusing, ¡°I see my hands go back and forth on the sides of my body and the bolts are leaking from under my fingers, you know? Like when you dive into the pool and there is a screen of air around you?¡± She nodded, innocently absorbed by his narration and Barry felt a surge of pride overcome him. He paused to let it in, went on, ¡°Wearing the right shoes, if I push a bit more on my toes or, for instance, wearing the right goggles, if I squint my eyes, the acceleration is immense, hm¡± he cleared his throat, ¡°like, when I crashed against your shelves in the hallway, it was just a very small example.¡± ¡°Get out of town¡± ¡°It was nothing, Ms White!¡± he exclaimed, giggling, ¡°if I continue running, and faster, just one crunch faster, I start to hear sounds inside my brain of things that haven¡¯t happened yet¡± ¡°W what¡± ¡°Breaking the sound barrier is one thing but if you approach the speed of light, some crazy things start taking place. I¡¯d never do it though¡± he looked down, serious, solemn, ¡°it¡¯s a rule I have¡± Predictably, Eugenie White was speechless and dazed, staring at him from behind her pillow. ¡°Messing with the relativity laws would open an entirely new door¡± ¡°Of things that¡­ haven¡¯t h¡ª¡± She was still one wagon or more behind, processing, her eyes dreamy and a little wet ¡°that¡¯s why many of you keep your identities a secret, otherwise, you¡¯d become lab rats¡± He nodded, ¡°and what would that power do in the wrong hands? I haven¡¯t even told my Team about this. I don¡¯t want anyone to know¡± She sniffled and shook her head, blinking away the pathos, and opted for a joke, ¡°so you mean you could have just sprinted like a madman and reversed time to avoid going into that room where the gunfire was¡± ¡°Sure¡± he feigned displeasure, but was grateful that she stirred them away from the drama of his revelations about his extraordinary gift, ¡°sure, good point, Ms White, I¡¯ll think about it next time I get shot at¡± She remained silent for a long long time, her eyes slowly shifting away from his face to look at nothing. They both replayed Barry¡¯s words in their minds at the same time, separately, he who knew what he meant with them, she with her interpretation and her imagination, ¡°one day, maybe you will explore the dark side of your power¡± she said at last ¡°Like in Star Wars¡± ¡°No, like in, the hidden part, the part of the iceberg that¡¯s in the water¡± ¡°Not everything has to do with Titanic, Ms White¡± She ignored him, ¡°I want to see it¡±, she rubbed her palms one against the other. ¡°You can¡¯t see it, that¡¯s the whole point¡± She tilted her head, squeezed her pillow, ¡°I think I can. One day, you will show me. Promise me¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible¡± ¡°Barryy¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like to promise¡± ¡°Swear to me¡± ¡°It¡¯s literally the same thing, Ms White¡± ¡°Say to me that you will consider it¡± He erupted in laughter, groaned a protest ¡°alright! Fuck! One day I shall show you¡± He glanced at her with pity, though, the mere mortal that she was, as she wouldn¡¯t ever be in the position to see a bolt. He wished he could carry her inside of it as if they were riding a tandem bike, take her into the whirlpool, guide her hand through the deceleration of time, slide her fingers into the fabric of space. ¡°It¡¯s magical¡± she said ¡°It exists on Earth so¡­ not magical¡± Ms White shrugged, got up from the sofa, started gathering the different color pens she had scattered on the coffee table, grabbed her pencil case, ¡°magic things are things science has not yet explained¡± she said without a fuss ¡°What¡¯s something magical to you" She stopped her collecting, stood up straight in the empty area of the living room that was now devoted to mini-bolting, ¡°the oriental octave¡± It was her turn to explain, and she looked like such a teacher when she did, separating from the nurse persona Barry had become more accustomed to. The oriental octave was the array of black keys on a piano, she summarized, ¡°for some reason, it makes people more emotional when they listen to it¡± ¡°Like with micro-tonality¡± She shook her finger at him, impressed, while her other hand was carrying all the pens, ¡°maybe, Barry, I had never thought about that. That or vibrations, hertz, I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m not a scientist¡± ¡°Why is it called oriental?¡± ¡°Funny, you can hear those notes and pitches in traditional Arabia music but, less known, you can also observe them in old Viking songs¡± On one hand, you have those vibes that makes an audience mellow, nostalgic, feeling spiritual and, on the other end, those were musical scales that could be utilized for longing for war, for igniting ferocity in people ¡°Nothing as fascinating as you being able to time-travel, though¡± He almost threw the cushion she had abandoned at her, ¡°I didn¡¯t say I could time-travel!¡± She had anticipated his move so she almost ducked, a cheeky smile on her face, ¡°but I¡¯m glad to hear that time is real¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t think time was real?¡± She opened her eyes as big as pizza pans and said nothing, ¡°and what Viking songs are you talking about¡± She winked, grabbed one last pen, ¡°I¡¯ll play you some while I make some soup¡± PART 2: The threshold of the Han (8) Brink She feared for Barry. Who would take care of him in his team of mutants? Although no information about their fate had popped up on the news for months, there wasn¡¯t a doubt in Eugenie¡¯s mind that they were there, lingering, that their presence was dormant, and that they would be back soon to rob Barry away. She was bothered about how skeptical she was of them and how many bad intentions she attributed to them while all they were, as a matter of fact, was this gathering of selfless individuals using their powers for good and protecting vulnerable civilians such as herself. They had been the ones giving a sense of identity and belonging to him, grounding Barry while he was discovering his superabilities. They were also the only ones, as of now, able to relieve her of her current responsibility towards him, so why was she dreading their imminent return? ¡°Is Uberwoman nice?¡± she had questioned Barry ¡°She¡¯s smoking hot¡± ¡°I know¡± Eugenie was trying not to giggle at the thought of how magnificent and wonderful Uberwoman was, having been a fan of hers since she was a little girl, ¡°but she also seems kind, benevolent, right?¡± ¡°Yes¡± Barry said, ¡°she¡¯s very kind. Why, you¡¯re into her, Ms White?¡± Of course, she thought, you would have to be a psychopath not to be, ¡°noo, I mean to know if, like, she¡¯s taking care of people, like, if she¡¯s the nurturer of the group¡± ¡°Yes she¡¯s the nurturer of the group¡± ¡°Does she take care of you?¡± ¡°Take care of me?¡± Barry seemed to have heard someone asking him if Uberwoman ate cats for breakfast, ¡°why would she take care of me?¡± She conceded that it was an arduous thing to imagine the Bolt, in his natural element, as needing attention and tending. For sure, he was projecting the image of a force of nature, a supple, elastic, fiery creation compacted into a hard ball of volcanic rock but, as a Geography teacher, she also knew that volcanic rock was artificial in nature. There was no such thing as truly hard volcanic rock, ¡°but what if you get shot again, will she take care of you?¡± Barry jumped on his butt, interrupted in the middle of his task of brushing the soles of his new Bolt suit he was slowly putting back together, ¡°WHAT? I will never get shot again¡± ¡°Not as long as you live¡± she teased him ¡°Not as long as I¡­ Ms White why are you saying those things?¡± ¡°You probably told yourself something similar when you got stabbed by this teenager and his butter kn¡ª¡± ¡°Hold on¡± he waved the shoe in the air like a bell, ¡°I was a beginner back then¡± that was funny to see his offense and the resurgence of his ego, ¡°and he didn¡¯t stab me, he like, scratched me¡± ¡°Hm. He tickled you¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like what you¡¯re insinuating¡± he spoke very seriously, although the soft and deflated half slipper in his hand was detrimental to that picture, resembling a molten brownie or a useless chunk of rubber. ¡°Yeah. I must be too overprotective¡± ¡°Wow. You¡¯re making me sick¡± he gagged. Eugenie had nodded and bitten her tongue to repress her laugh. She also feared for herself: was she alright? Did she need the Team back to liberate her from watching over Barry? She walked to the next room in her apartment, changed shops on her street during her grocery trips, entered the post office, connected tram to metro, and she felt a darkness in the corner, following her, creeping on her. It was the question about tomorrow, about Barry, it came with a blackness and a special stuffed air she would breathe that would dig a pit inside her belly. Delaying the day Barry would depart wouldn¡¯t help with anything, she saw; spending more time living together would only make it worse.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. You¡¯re not his mother, his aunt, his spirit guide. She was not his relative, they were not buddies, nothing. The boy had to spread his wings and fly, soon, and that was the normal order of things. When patients got better at the hospital, they would sign a discharge and leave and move on. Medical staff didn¡¯t require guarantees that the rest of their patients¡¯ existence would be safe from danger. Medical staff doesn¡¯t look at empty hospital rooms with a feeling of emptiness and missing their patients. One night, she had lifted her head from her grading papers at the dinner table and discovered that hours had passed and it was dark outside. She was about to get up when she realized that the cat was peacefully sleeping on top of some students¡¯ dissertations in front of her, drooling from the corner of his almost-toothless mouth on one of the sheets. During all this time, Barry had been sitting next to her, listening to his audio book in his earphones and taking some devices apart, piece by piece. Now, he was trying to attach the box to his new Bolt suit he was assembling from scratch, sticking out his tongue, his face focused. She permitted herself a short second of contemplation but quickly put an end to it, as a big sponge of emotion was making its way up her throat. ¡°You are both my little pets, following me around the house everywhere I go¡± she had remarked to him about him and the cat, smiling light-heartedly, and she grabbed some pans and spoons to make some food. ¡°Wow, you have such a cringy way to describe it¡± he had said without looking up at her, but she saw he was trying to dissimulate a smile. He put the hood of his sweater on to hide underneath, fidgeting hard with his tools and threads. She never told him she had not been completely asleep when he had secretly admitted to her cat that he wished to stay in her flat forever. There was something very balanced about Barry, that she esteemed. He was able to put down his guard and build a relationship, as theirs became warm and genuine, at ease with each other, but he was never guilty of excess of overstepping, he maintained a biens¨¦ance that she had seldom identified in people, and which stood diametrically opposite of what he had designed their exchanges to be back when he was her student. The word recognition scared her too, although that was what she felt from him, some uncomplicated gratitude for her stepping in when he needed it and some basic decent fair indebtedness that he didn¡¯t seem to struggle to produce and release and let float between them on a daily basis. He seemed, ? surprise, to have been schooled outside of their school, at a rare equilibrium, between respect and flow. And so un-found this mix was that she wondered if this was also something that he had been born with, keeping it a dark secret the whole time. He still enjoyed roasting her and ridiculing her special needs and dull habits, but she didn¡¯t hate it, now that she found herself in an environment where she could throw back a jab or two at him. Who would she talk to and joke around with, when he departed her flat? You didn¡¯t use to need someone to talk to or joke around with. For sure I will not talk to you, she grunted back at her inside voice. You¡¯re already talking to me I didn¡¯t think I needed someone to talk to and joke around with. I mean before. Facing her old walls instead of Barry, talking to her cat, who was more qualified for napping and eating than for chitchat. She was laughing so much with Barry that her jaw hurt, her abdominal muscles hurt, and the sound of his laugh was a gift from outer space, especially after she had initially thought he would perish in the middle of her apartment. At the beginning, she had been determined to use her learned skills at being a pleasant person to accelerate his recovery, believing in the power of affirmations and lifting people¡¯s spirits and, following that, she had been happy to make him feel welcome and not like a burden, since he was staying, she didn¡¯t see the point of admonish him for it or acting cold about something he couldn¡¯t control. Now, well, now? Who knew what she was doing. ¡°Get this Barry¡± she said one Sunday afternoon, as she was finishing a crime novel and wearing an avocado facemask. Barry was stretching inside the prototype of his new suit on the old yoga mat that she had never used, having incorporated on it the audacious concept of underarm gliding gear, ¡°I¡¯m almost at the end of this book and the hero just got shot by, like, a gun. He said, listen to this: ¡®I felt the bullet hit me before I heard the shot¡¯¡± Barry glanced at her, unimpressed, his eyes suspicious ¡°And?¡± he asked with affront. ¡°And?¡± she put her book down on her lap, smiled at him irreverently, ¡°I wonder if that makes any sense to you, from like, personal experience¡± ¡°That makes absolutely no sense, Ms White, in terms of sound, speed of sound travel, and it just makes no sense¡± ¡°I just thought it would amuse you¡± ¡°That it would amuse me?¡± He broke off his workout session to sit straight and look exaggeratedly upset. ¡°I just thought it would interest you¡± ¡°Interest me?¡± As usual when they ran out of provocations, something was thrown, this time the yoga mat, that he folded messily and tossed in her direction, missing, and she counter attacked with some balls of rolled socks that she had retrieved from the drier a couple days before and that he had not tidied up. That was the day she told him she would gift the damn mat to him, and wrote his name on the side of it with a permanent marker, since he used it way more than she ever did or would. He nodded solemnly, as he did when he was happy and didn¡¯t find any proper manner to respond. And that¡¯s why you don¡¯t like his Team. I don¡¯t understand That¡¯s why you don¡¯t want them to come back and pick him up PART 2: The threshold of the Han (9) Doorstep Barry brought a girl home, once. He was going out more and more, at this point of their roommate situation, and he even talked about some nice friends. Eugenie was continually mesmerized about how little he seemed to miss his mutant team, or even his job as a superhero. Had he ever got the chance to live a normal life? Guilt filled her heart, for looking at him with pure satisfaction in her heart during those moments, as if she had created a work of art out of him, a rehabilitated individual into a society he had not seemed to easily fit into. She really couldn¡¯t accept this overzealous credit, she scolded herself. It was his doing, his resilience. It was the middle of the night when she heard a crash at her entrance door, followed by some alarmed shushing and the shuffling of coats, the dull thuds of shoes dropped on the welcoming mat. Eugenie slid in a panic into the blanket of her bed, pushed her hand as strongly as she could against her mouth. A little wheeze of a laugh whistled from between her fingers so she closed her eyes and added her other hand on the push. You little fennec, you little motherfucker, YOU DID NOT. He did, and she became horrified, when she understood that the girl had not just walked Barry back to the door but that she was entering inside the flat. Some muffled laughs clashed with the total silence of the living room and she heard the panicked gallop of Terence the cat to flee the scene and retreat into the bedroom. As if she was competing in the olympic games of bed jumping, she lept desperately to the other side of the pillow next to the one where she was trying to sleep and shoved her hand inside the top drawer of her night table. The tip of her fingers brushed against the tangled lines of her earphones, and she pulled on them madly, holding her breath, plugged them into her phone and inserted the buds into her ears. Started the first thing on her last playlist, not that, not that, when she heard the opening notes of My heart will go on. Next! Daring a trembling leg out of her comforter and still in apnea, she pushed as hard as she could against her bedroom door. It slammed shut and she heard some giggles in the distance, before another song released her from this nightmare. It was Thunderstruck. ¡°Perfect¡± she whispered to herself, put it on repeat and grabbed her cat, tucked him under her arm. She closed her eyes inside her sleeping eyemask. In the late hours of the morning, she waited until she was starving to even move a muscle, however her mission of patience became tortuous when a irresistible smell of eggs and bacon started to emanate from the kitchen. A concert of drums was beating inside Eugenie¡¯s chest. Reluctantly, covering herself with a sweater, a cardigan and her thick robe, she got to exiting her bedroom and following the divine smell. The girl was there with a spatula in her hand, her huge blue eyes devouring the rest of her face in anticipation. She was wearing Barry¡¯s oversize tee-shirt on top of skinny jeans and she seemed to be shitting those pants. Her untidy hair was flowing, dark, on her shoulders. She was very beautiful, delicate and slender, with very small hands. ¡°Good morning Ms uh¡­ Black?¡± she said, unsure. ¡°Ms White¡± Eugenie said, ¡°please, don¡¯t call me Ms White¡± Please don¡¯t look at me, I¡¯m just super hungry, ¡°Ms White, I mean, Mrs White, is my mother, I mean my aunt, I mean¡± I just want one egg, and possibly, one glass of water. ¡°We made breakfast for you¡± the girl said with a quivering voice. ¡°We??¡± Finally, Eugenie¡¯s eyes fell on Barry. He didn¡¯t look like he had made any breakfast, yawning on top of his empty plate, scratching his chin. What the fuck she sent him the telepathic message but he avoided her stare. ¡°I showed Anatolia where all the pans were¡± he said, ¡°I made the coffee and¡­ ah shit, I forgot to push the button¡± He got up and they all stumbled around in the constricted space of the little kitchen. Freaking out at the forceful and disorderly intrusion into her space bubble, Eugenie slid on the side, grabbed the back of a chair. ¡°Anatolia, what a lovely name¡± she spoke to the girl, ¡°I¡¯m Eugenie¡± ¡°I told you it would be okay¡± Barry bragged, crossing his arms on his chest in front of the coffee machine. ¡°Barry, put a shirt on please¡± WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK she mouthed at him while Anatolia had her back to her, ¡°it¡¯s breakfast, not a frat house¡± The boy obeyed in a grunt, hurried to fetch a jumper and joined them in the kitchen with more appropriate garments. ¡°You slept well?¡± Eugenie asked pouring the coffee in the mugs; Anatolia was sitting very demurely on her chair in front of her, her wrists touching, as if she was trying to make herself as small as she could, and Anatolia kept saying yes with her head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t bite, sweetie pie. I¡¯m just going to have an egg and go for a jog, because you made delicious food, thank you¡± ¡°I told you my mom is cool with that¡± Barry said sitting down, enthusiastically grabbing his fork and his knife, ¡°Jesus, I am starving¡± Eugenie chocked on her coffee and snatched a paper towel from the kitchen stand, pretending to blow her nose. The beverage was so hot it twisted in her esophagus, where it wasn¡¯t meant to stay and linger, and burned her entire neck. She blinked away some tears. MOM? Eugenie¡¯s knee bumped forcefully against Barry¡¯s under the table, ¡°yes, thank you for the hospitality, madam, it is very kind of you¡± Anatolia added, her elbows off the tablecloth, softly picking eggs from her plate and sticking tiny bites into her tiny mouth. MOM? Anatolia cleared her throat and said: ¡°that is a very nice place you have here, in the center of the city¡± ¡°Yes¡± approved Eugenie-Mom, ¡°I like it very much, it is so lively and convenient. You can really walk anywhere you need around here, no need to use a car or a bus¡± There was something that was not so unpleasant between their three chairs, something charming and warm and hygge in the smell of the food and hot drinks, ¡°milk? Sugar?¡± she offered.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Barry was fighting the awkwardness of the moment by being his own self, Eugenie saw, gulping big spoons of yogurt and jam to avoid making conversation as his discomfort was palpable, and Anatolia kept tilting her head towards him, checking if he was going to come to her rescue, but he continued eating without saying anything, ¡°it is uh¡± Anatolia said, ¡°very nice of you to provide housing to Barry while he¡¯s finishing his internship¡± Barry smiled horribly at Eugenie, his cheeks swollen by the food like he was a Guinea Pig. ¡°Hm¡± Eugenie coughed, still processing the burn inside her throat, ¡°internship, of course. Well, what can I say? My son¡¯s well-being is the most important to me. I am just so happy that he is on this uh, internship, you know, that he has found his way¡± ¡°Thanks mom¡± Barry said, trying to hide behind a glass of water that he couldn¡¯t sip from because his mouth was too full, ¡°you¡¯re the best¡± ¡°I will tell you one thing, dear. For a while¡± Eugenie went on, ¡°I was soo worried my son was a bit lost. He didn¡¯t seem to have any direction in his life. So this, this opportunity, I¡¯m ready to sleep on the bathroom floor if necessary¡± ¡°Ah, yes no well, mommy, I was just taking my time. You know me, I always have a plan¡± Mommy¡­ Eugenie gagged between her teeth, promised herself she would soon go jogging in the park and hide behind a tree and cry. For some reason mommy was even worse than mom. Her eye fell on the knife next to her untouched breakfast plate and she remembered Barry¡¯s old classmate, Stan, fantasizing to use his plastic spoon to stab Barry in the neck at the canteen. ¡°I guess you needed time to fall back on your feet after this horrible accident¡± Anatolia wiped her mouth and pointed at Barry¡¯s stomach, where she had must have noticed the presence of things that had undoubtedly raised many questions. Who knew what answers Barry had provided to those, ¡°you must have been so scared, Ms White¡± she said, ¡°Barry told me he almost died.¡± Fucking hell, Eugenie¡¯s mind was racing, glancing desperately at Barry who was emptying his second glass of water. Without a doubt, her had probably drunkenly narrated a heroic tale to her the evening before, and there was no way to guess what it had been. Knowing Barry, it could have occurred in the real world or in Wakanda, or on the Starship Entreprise. ¡°Oh my God, Anatolia, you don¡¯t say!¡± she hoped that answer would be enough, kicked Barry once more under the table, but he seemed equally at a loss. Anatolia¡¯s face was open, curious, ready to be all ears, so at last, he jumped in clumsily, ¡°you know uh¡­ speeding, is¡­ uh, bad¡± he said. ¡°That is a lesson for you children¡± Eugenie spoke carefully, unable to eat another bite, ¡°this car accident¡± ¡°Car? Barry told me it was a kayak accident¡± Kayak? Barry¡¯s nose was touching the water deep into his third glass and he closed his eyes in despair, ¡°hahaha¡± Eugenie laughed horrendously, a kayak accident? ¡°We uh¡­ you know, Barry¡¯s father and I, his mom, used to uh¡­ nickname, hm, Barry¡¯s kayak a car, isn¡¯t that adorable, honey? Do you remember, honey?¡± she asked Barry with insistence. He nodded helplessly, ¡°because when he was a little boy, he couldn¡¯t say ¡®kayak¡¯, that idio¡ª I mean, cutie pie, he just uh¡­ kept pointing at it and yell : ¡®Car! Car! Car¡¯¡± ¡°That was good¡± Barry blew some air inside his glass, impressed, ¡°I mean, the food. I mean, this water also, water is very good¡± and Eugenie stomped his bare foot with her slipper under the table, pushed on all his toes. ¡°What a scary story¡± Anatolia commented, ¡°I never thought whether I would try kayaking before, but now I know I won¡¯t ever go near it!¡± She was completely at ease now, bringing one of her knees to her chin on her seat, just taking her time enjoying the horrific tale of kayaking she was being fed. ¡°Well¡± Eugenie said, ¡°not everyone goes into kayaking like a cowboy, sweetie. If you are, you know, a normal person, reasonable, like, cautious, you can do all the kayaking you want, and such an accident will probably not happen to you¡± ¡°Well¡± Barry embarked on her second-degree wagon, ¡°I would say, still, that kayaking is a dangerous sport anyway¡± ¡°Tons of people go kayaking and don¡¯t get hurt, my little baby bear¡± ¡°I guess we should ask this question to an expert on kayaking, instead of just brainstorming about it, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I think the experts would¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m uh¡­ Please, can I use your bathroom Ms White? I mean Eugenie¡± Anatolia interrupted. Both Eugenie and Barry nodded madly, supportive of the idea, so she went, moving gracefully between the furniture. ¡°Are you out of your mind?¡± Eugenie whispered-exploded once the girl was gone, ¡°what the fuck is this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry Ms White¡± Barry whined like a little kid, ¡°we went out, there was a lot of drinking and one thing led to ano--¡± ¡°I¡¯m not talking about that! How¡­ why MOM?¡± ¡°Shhhh¡± ¡°Mom¡± she quietly sobbed into her napkin to add to her theater ¡°I couldn¡¯t think of anything else I¡¯m sor¡ª¡± ¡°You will pay for this mom thing, I swear¡± ¡°It just popped out in my brain and I¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying to save your date, you silly goose, and you¡¯re not giving me any information!¡± ¡°Ms White! I¡¯m trying to recollect the specific details myself, I have a total blank¡± ¡°A kayak accident? Are you serious? Where the hell do you find those things?¡± They looked at each other, both pondering the question with huge eyes, then they burst out laughing, which prompted Anatolia to deem the space safe enough to re-enter it. Soon, the flush of the bathroom was heard, followed by the sound of the faucet, and Eugenie and Barry were still giggling when she came back with a smile of relief on her traits. She sat down again and added one cube of sugar into her coffee, not daring to ask what all the fun was about. ¡°Sorry Anatolia¡± Barry said, ¡°Ms W¡ª My mom and I were remembering something very funny she said to me when I woke up at the hospital¡± ¡°You guys are so cute! I wish I laughed like that with my parents¡± ¡°You don¡¯t get along with your family, dear?¡± Eugenie asked as a diversion from what she sensed was becoming too fun for Barry. ¡°It¡¯s not that¡± Anatolia sighed, ¡°it¡¯s all going great with my mom, but she works a lot, and since I have left home, we don¡¯t talk as much as before. My step dad is nice too but he is a bit of an introvert¡± Eugenie offered the mastered-over-time nod and sympathetic frown she usually gave to students when she wasn¡¯t listening to their bullshit reasons for not turning homework, simply because she was bracing for what she knew was next ¡°So¡± Anatolia asked, ¡°what was this funny thing?¡± ¡°It was uh¡­ You tell her Barry¡± ¡°No you tell her. You came up with it¡± ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s so strange it feels like you came up with it, go ahead¡± ¡°You¡¯re a way better storyteller than I am, please¡± ¡°Stop with the nonsense¡± Eugenie was aware of Anatolia¡¯s confusion restored on the other side of the table, so she forced a big spoon of yogurt into her mouth. Barry exhaled heavily, half-smiling, silently admitting defeat, ¡°she told me uh¡­ she said: ¡®If you ever die, I will kill you with my bare hands¡¯¡± Silence. ¡°Hilarious¡± Eugenie said dryly. Anatolia scoffed with politeness, ¡°wow, that¡¯s¡­ uh¡­ intense¡± ¡°But then mom also told me the sweetest thing¡± Barry continued, unperturbed, ¡°the sweetest thing in the world¡± he looked eagerly at Eugenie. ¡°Yes? Oh my god, what was it?¡± PART 2: The threshold of the Han (10) 2015 ¨C Barry¡¯s twelfth grade School reports didn¡¯t shine so bright in Barry Masquevert¡¯s teenage life but, in truth, he didn¡¯t hate school at all. It was a nice place, much simpler than the other places outside of school in his life. Much simpler than home where he was witnessing his father getting involved into shadier and shadier deals and risking to get noticed by the police. Barry wanted so much to use his superpowers to rob a bank, fix his father¡¯s financial troubles, but that was not what his father had raised him to do, so it was a pretty intricate internal conflict in his young person. What if he had brought a hundred thousand dollars, pretended it had been some kind of lottery, and saved his dad this way, kept him out of trouble? In the end, this relief would literally be a farce, a theft. It was all going back to the nanosecond where Mr Masquevert had finally located his baby boy, about to be registered into social services, and had claimed his son. He had not done so and worked so hard and taken so much shit and he was not struggling so immensely at the moment to encourage his boy to rob a bank and take money from people who were just as innocent as he or in similar predicaments as his. Barry cursed his father for the complicated message his upbringing created. So, school was nice. It was also nicer than those lonely nights when he sat on top of a building in the cold, dressed all in black, wearing a ski mask, waiting for sounds and electricity to reach him from the city. Sometimes, there would be something he could do to make sure a very bad thing didn¡¯t happen to an unfortunate individual, distracted before crossing a street, about to fall to their death because they didn¡¯t see there was a big hole next. He saved some lives, but no one knew it. He was alone, cold, sleepy, tired, not doing his homework. He hated it. And then, when he was finally recruited by the Team, met Hobbes and Marlene and George and all the clique, school had also been a simpler place than the mesmerizing superhero cave Alphonse had carved out of a massive rock and cliff towering the main artificial lake of the suburbs, filling it with high tech toys and an overall feeling of imminent danger. His peers were easier to interact with than those other mutants, some of them being a hundred years old or more, a group within which he felt a bit out of place for a long time. They seemed to have everything figured out but he couldn¡¯t trust them, not yet. At school, all one had to do was really the bare minimum. He liked to do just that, aim at passing whatever classes he had, win at not getting caught falling asleep during a lesson, and the rest of the time, he enjoyed the normal high school backstage stuff : hanging out, joking around, jumping around, trespassing, doing drugs under the football field bleachers, hitting on girls, vandalizing property, driving teachers crazy when he was having a bad day and looking for someone to pay. Barry loved to attract attention to himself, which, he saw, was not too bonkers to decode, in the position that was his. He didn¡¯t just love it, he needed it preciously. Yes, he was doing all these things, secretly improving the life quality of the citizens of his town and the city M nearby, but it was all a secret. No one knew. And it was really out of the kindness of his heart, out of the values his father had made sprout inside of him, that he was doing so, because he would have a hundred times better enjoyed playing video games or watching porn after school than dressing like a ninja and pacing the streets to prevent crime. He felt like his powers deserved to be used for good. So, when at school, he would be noticed, and because he was not a gifted scholar, the noticing would have to be about whatever else he could project. Mostly bad. At the bottom of his heart, Barry was aware teachers didn¡¯t hate him, and no one from the staff was stupid enough to think he was a bad kid but, in the end, teachers, Principal, assistants, janitors, guards, secretaries would all agree he was simply and banally a little shit and a pain in the ass. It was good enough. The thing he was most looking forward to when waking up too late and sleep deprived every morning was, number one: that girl or that other girl who he would meet in the restroom or under the staircase, and make out with. There were just so many of them, all of them drop-dead gorgeous, their bodies a playground of delights every time, and they fainted like flies in front of him, effortlessly! The way they looked at him, masticated on their bubble gums in front of him, bent their waists in front of him, everything was the Call of the Wild. Barry remembered that he had read a book with that very title before, for English Literature class, and that the story had nothing to do with being a horny teenager in front of a crowd of temptations, but he liked that name a lot. Number two: his buddies, but he had to rethink that. He mostly liked James, who was always bringing the pills from his parents¡¯ cabinet and brought up the most improbable topics to discuss while he was high or just sleepy. Otherwise, his schoolmates were pretty boring, and navigating lives that were so different from his that he didn¡¯t easily feel connected to them. Robortor, George, would be his first friend, with time, but, at school, he hung out with some boys, some girls, especially the ones who had some recreational resources up their sleeves, innate or stolen, or both. Number three: there was his Geography teacher, Ms White. He was starting to really be into her, second year of high school. He opened his eyes to his alarm clock and she was the first thing he thought about, although that feeling in itself gave him cause for wonder. The strident ring of the alarm would slowly enter his ears, the light of day from the window sliding through his eyelids, and then he would think: Ms White. She wasn¡¯t motivation enough for him to arrive in class on time every day, no, she was more than that. She was the reason he just plainly got out of bed and went to school, period. For that reason, she should really have held the first position on his list of School Fun things. Yes, number one, there were the hot girls, cheerleaders, even the timid girls from band who were not wearing underwear under their uniform, but they always behaved the same. And his friends, yes, they were amusing, they were a nice group of pirates, troublemakers, but he could always feel the distance between them when he couldn¡¯t attend such or such party, such session of driving around drinking cheap bear and doing donuts on parking lots because he had his duties. He was fond of his friends but he wished he could have shared his secrets with them, made true connections with them. They had jokes, prescription medication misplaced from their family bathrooms, but they were always the same pleasantries and the same drugs. Skipping a day of school or a month or a year and returning after a long absence, of bolting through time with speed approaching the sacred number of light enough ¨Cwhich he began to suspect was possible early enough, just before he found his Team, and which filled his heart with dark dread¡ª, changing the velocity time spent itself, he would have found the same environment the next day, the next decade, or the one before. Nothing truly missed, he would have only had to pretend to teachers he cared about catching up on lessons. But with Ms White, it was different : who knew what the day would bring? Every day, content was unique, revealed, rare, radiating. Unpredictable. For that reason, he rolled himself out of bed, showered, almost never, brushed his teeth, most of the time, and drove his car to school every day. What was he going to do to her today? He didn¡¯t know, and it was a wonderful feeling. She could appear at anytime, in the corridor, he could bump into her in the hall, and he would certainly make sure he was ditching Ethics to sit on the lunch bench with her. She was unpredictable but, most importantly, he felt unpredictable when she was around. Something she triggered in him always fascinated him : a surprise, every new day. An improvisation, a rush, an opportunity. She was his muse. And, for the first three years of his high school life, he had also sat in her class, every day but Wednesday. The thought shook his neurons into place in the morning, running late, gathering some clothes, cursing the clock on the wall, grabbing a toast or just drinking milk from the bottle as breakfast before leaving the house. Sometimes, his father was back, from his night shift, and had made the effort to stay up an extra hour so they would have a small chat before it was school time for Barry and sleepy time for Mr Masquevert. Handing him the milk carton, his father did his best to make some chat happen those days, but it was quite difficult for Barry, as all the roles he was juggling in his life left him unsure about how to be a son to this mysterious complex man who had raised him alone. ¡°You¡¯re in love or something?¡± Dennis Masquevert asked one morning. ¡°Dad! Why do you ask that?¡± Barry brushed him off, gulping some milk, grabbing a Capri Sun juice pocket for his lunch. ¡°You are in love with a girl at school!¡± his dad exclaimed, sitting at the table and smoking, a glass of water in front of him, ¡°otherwise, why would you rise¡± he looked down at his watch, ¡°almost on time and be so¡­. Giddied up?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well, I gather from meeting with your teachers you are not very invested in academics, Barry¡± Barry shrugged, doing his best to act as a normal teenager, knowing all his dad would have to say would be: ¡°just keep up as best you can with English, Math, History, Geography, that¡¯s all I ask of you, okay?¡± He nodded, ¡°I¡¯m not in love with anyone, dad. Everyone at school is so boring¡± ¡°Right. You know when I say a girl, I don¡®t mind if you¡¯re into a guy either, you understand? Love is love¡± ¡°DAD!¡± Barry shouted, flailing to his car His father watched him from the doorstep, the glass of water in his hands, a cute smile on his face : ¡°you are bleeding love, my son! It is a Leona Lewis song, you know that?¡± ¡°What the f¡± he waved exaggeratedly at his dad, put the car in reverse, tires screeching against the pavement as he fled the house to a safer destination where constant interrogation wasn¡¯t taking place. Bleeding Love? Who the fuck was Leona Lewis. Was he in love with Ms White? The question would haunt him, delightfully, every day even beyond graduation. He didn¡¯t care what it was, he just loved it. Wasn¡¯t he allowed to just bask in something nice, for once, something uncomplicated, innocent, just that one time? Yield into some harmless fun? Yes, you are allowed, motherfucker, he would tell himself while driving down the road, parking his car on the student¡¯s lot, you are allowed. He looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror: a bit tired looking, greasy hair, but a fucking movie star, that¡¯s what he was. He walked into school, late, like a conqueror. And sat in the middle of the Geography class with immense joy in his heart. It was the little things, really. Just the fact that she had just said : ¡°now, just quiet down, I¡¯ll launch the presentation¡± and he pretended not to hear her, or she was teaching, lecturing, but he was leaning over to Max or Julie, and raising his voice just loud enough for it not to be a whisper, and the magic happened. He would see Max or Julie¡¯s eyes look at something behind him, which was Ms White, and guess, oh, guess, in relish, that she was trailing off and noticing him, gradually noticing the disturbing of the perfect pace she had planned for her lesson. Julie or Max would run a hand under their chin, silently communicating to him that he was causing trouble, but he dove into it more. And bla, and bla, and bla, whatever he would feign to be talking about, at that one moment. ¡°Barry, is there something wrong with your ears?¡± Ms White asked. ¡°No, just got them checked yesterday, they¡¯re all good¡± thinking, you are cute, you are a cute lady. ¡°Barry, do you care to share with us the story you are sharing with Alberto right now?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think it is appropriate for class¡± thinking, made you look, aha! ¡°Barry, can you please repeat what I just said, out loud, so I am sure you were listening?¡± ¡°You were saying something about uh¡­ icebergs?¡± I was actually listening ¡®cause, you Ms White you, you have such a lovely voice. ¡°Barry Masquevert!¡± she lost her cool sometimes, ¡°how many times do I have to request silence for you to give it to me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± he would reply. How many times can you steal my heart, is the real question here. ¡°You are not sorry! Why are you acting this way?¡± ¡°I am immature, you are a sweet creature, when you are angry, Ms White. When she had argued with him about cellphones and he had driven her to blurt out the infamous ¡®I think you miss being punished by me¡¯ in front of everyone, gasping, he had felt a small tremor in his chest, a hint of guilt, as he guessed he had taken it to the next level, publicly humiliating her, but he was also enchanted, because that, out of everything, would seal their bond forever. The anger she had shot at him from her eyes, while he was pretending to savor his victory, was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Also, now, she would never forget him.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Why sexy? He was bedazzled. Because she could take it. She was an uneventful teacher, nothing spectacular or eye-catching about her but, her strength, her diligence, her perseverance in her uninteresting subject, her ability to be roasted by an entire class without batting an eye, that was something. Many teachers pretended to be cool but became obviously upset at the first negative comment, overreacting like little bitches. So many walked around with a strong air about themselves, and exploded into blood-drenched crises when triggered the slightest, abusing their positions of power to censor the student population. Some others took the act further into pitiful-ness, laughing an embarrassing moment awkwardly, fighting to save their egos, but not Ms White. When he made her day a little worse, she just had this look, catapulted into his, her mouth shut. She took it like a lady, she didn¡¯t shake in her boots, she didn¡¯t attempt to salvage herself, only her lesson. She was a fucking professional. He loved her backbone and that she could face a horde of savage teenagers and hold her ground, not shy in front of self-deprecation, not denying her weaknesses, being genuine. Even though most of his peers would have said she lost many battles, in terms of what she initially aimed to accomplish in her ranks, he would have said the contrary. There were some outbursts of anger, yes, some words that they didn¡¯t mean, some disrespectful and out-of-line exchanges but, in the end, there was a trust between the students and Ms White. How did she do that? He wondered. He supposed, because even if something bad happened on Monday, she cleared the slate on Tuesday, and gave second chances. It was a bizarre thing. She had a good heart. Many called her class boring and indulged in name-calling her or reviewing everything that was wrong about her teaching style, but that was only because after gossiping on classmates, listing fails and successes of burgeoning love stories at school and negotiating off pill debts, bitching about small jobs, guessing who had an eating disorders and how to hack an Instagram profile, there had to be something else to speak about, and it was teachers.How much school sucked and was such bullshit and how much this town was the next thing they¡¯d see in their rear view mirror after graduation, leaving all those terrible dull teachers behind with their parents, bosses, cousins, foster families. She showed them what it was to be okay in adversity, to be allies while disagreeing, to stick together even after tensions, to give a fair chance to everyone in spite of past disastrous misunderstandings or incidents, to clean the slate off all the classes week after week, to grow as a whole diverse whole and not lose sight of it, no matter the difficulties. For that, he had to admit, she was a good teacher. Sucked at Geography but she was okay at life. That was the reason they were the perfect pair. Barry knew Ms White didn¡¯t see it this way, rather, she saw him as a bubble gum sticking the sole of her shoe to the ground but he, in his privileged all-knowing position, understood it as bright as day made its brightness obvious. He didn¡¯t torture her non-stop either. Sometimes, they had nice exchanges, like the day she was trying to project from the new DVD player all the classrooms had been equipped with over Winter break and couldn¡¯t crack the code of the modern technology, he had not been thinking, and he just got up and walked to her desk, plugged one thing, activated the remote control. ¡°Thank you Barry, you are a lifesaver!¡± she had exclaimed genuinely at him, ¡°this is the only thing I had planned for today! You literally rescued my lesson!¡± He smiled back at her, saying nothing, nodding. Blank slates! Saving, saving lives, hell yeah, she was not able to ever know it, but saving lives was Barry¡¯s new specialty. She was good with compliments, and always creative when it came to encouraging the less talented students at her subject, always finding the little thing that would boost them, such as ¡°this map¡¯s scale is all wrong but Jesus! Have you ever seen such beautifully drawn mountains?¡± she showed the work to the class, making Stephanie blush, ¡°Stephanie, I didn¡¯t know you were such an artist!¡± Even the little shits, like him, received some praise, as in ¡°oh, I love your hat today Gregoire, it¡¯s very stylish¡± or, if she knew something important was happening in anyone¡¯s life, even a student who had gotten on her wrong side the day before, she was still able to treat all of them as human beings: ¡°I heard your sister had a baby, Daphne! Congratulations! Can all the class clap for our new aunt in the room please? MAKE SOME NOISE!¡± During a Geography period, there had been a debate about Flat Earthers, and for once, Barry had felt like participating, and he had risen his hand and started talking about his neighbor and the crazy shit the guy believed, like, absence of curvature of the land that he thought, since observed with the naked eye, was proof the planet was as flat as pizza without all the ingredients on it. Another student had jumped in with the intention to interrupt Barry and Ms White had cut him off: ¡°please, Ben, let Barry speak! Everyone will have their turn!¡± She could have chosen to grant the floor to Ben, a much gifted and devoted student in Geography, but she was applying fairness and demonstrating, as seemed to be her role as an educator, that everyone was equal in the room. It moved him, that she was kind, impartial to everyone after the hard times were over. One time, she had detained him on a Saturday morning and had had the unpleasant surprise that her name had been drawn as the supervisor of the detention ¨Cthat was the deal, as staff members rotated for those extra duties. It was just him and two other guys, who had been caught smelling like weed with dilated pupils first period after smoking inside a car with closed windows on the parking lot like idiots. Ms White, looking tired and fed up and like she could, herself, use some drugs, at 9 o¡¯clock on Saturday morning, entered the detention room, which was absurdly large for the relatively limited number of students detention was affecting every week. The gigantism of the place framed her little figure all enveloped in a large dress and at least two layers of scarves, clashing big against small. She dropped her backpack on the main desk, gestured to everyone to sit down, ¡°do your homework or whatever, okay?¡± She retrieved a pile of papers from her pack, fetched a red pen and dove into her marking. The silence in detention room was something that people who yearned for silence would probably get detained for rather than attending real classes or even real life, Barry observed. Every little rubbing, scratching of pen against paper, move of furniture on floor, was quite blissful, when you thought about it. Here, in this room that was meant to recreate some sort of a prison, freedom happened, from the noise, the business, the rush. It was a forced parenthesis during which he could not bolt, was not allowed to face his father for ill-at-ease chats, or struggle to fit in with his Team of superheroes. Detention was number four on Barry¡¯s list of great School Things. One of the students suffering the sentence that day had fallen asleep and started snoring in the large room ¨Cdetention on Saturday morning was in no way going to cancel partying like a rock star on Friday night for the high-schoolers¡ª and Ms White had lazily gotten up, walked slowly to the boy drooling on his math paper, when he began farting in his sleep. Barry and the third kid started giggling and, he had seen on her face that she was biting her lip, trying to refrain from reacting in such a puerile manner to farts ¨Cfive year old¡¯s comical relief¡ª until she couldn¡¯t hold it anymore and they all started laughing together. She looked at Barry, shook her head while her shoulders bounced up and down with laughter, and they had shared that funny moment. The next day, they crossed paths in the hallway and he made a little fart noise with his mouth to catch her attention, and she turned around, chuckled warmly, shaking her head, before walking away. She had no animosity toward him, nothing more than the applying of her role, mixed with the acknowledgment that they were people too, brought together for that ridiculous instant of silliness. With time, Ms White had quickly learned that when Barry was sitting next to her on her cafeteria supervision bench, the goal was to torment her as much as possible before lunch was over, but she always made the effort to show him that she didn¡¯t assume the worst, always started the conversation with a nice greeting, ¡°how are you Barry? How is life?¡± When she heard that he was working at the car shop after school, she had asked him: ¡°what do you do there? Are the customers nice?¡± ¡°Some are di¡­ I mean, jerks, they want the impossible, like, four tyres changed in an hour. And then they yell at us and threaten not to pay¡± he replied. ¡°Wow, people are fennecs, Barry, you cannot let them treat you this way¡± ¡°Some people think they are better than us at the shop because they show up in a fancy car wearing a suit and all¡± ¡°That¡¯s a load of crap. If they are so good, why don¡¯t they fix their own cars?¡± ¡°Thanks, Ms White¡± he had said, you are such a nice lady, I love you. ¡°You¡¯re welcome Barry. The world is full of pedantic people. You have to know your worth, sweetie pie¡± Those times, it was a bit harder for him to continue torturing her, but he knew he had to. The helpful interactions she was offering him were not enough, after all, she behaved like this with all the students, good or bad, called them all sweetie, or darling, and he wanted to be the special one, beyond the sweeties and the darlings. So starting nice, casual, he would always find a way to engage into the pestering path, as if he reprimanded her for granting him her trust, as if he enjoyed betraying her for being kind to him, and the emotion he felt as a result was a mix of culpability and great entertainment, and some enticement that inverted left and right for him. ¡°Hey¡± he turned the discussion around, beginning his methodical switch subtly, slowly, marinating in the joy of what was to come, ¡°it¡¯s not going to be a career for me, anyway¡± You don¡¯t deserve my insolence, you really don¡¯t, but I HAVE to do this. ¡°What kind of ambitions do you have then?¡± she asked, unphased. I have to do this or, when I¡¯m gone, you will forget me, ¡°I have the ambition to get on your nerves¡± he answered, I have the ambition to be remembered by you, laughing openly he responded something provocative to her, and she chased him away with the thin pile of papers she had brought to her supervision duty like he was a mosquito in a summer room, fuming. Success! Immense success! He was quite amazed himself at how diverse his approaches were on a daily basis to making Ms White¡¯s life at school difficult, his mind was blown and his heart grew fonder of her seeing how inspired he constantly was. One time, in the middle of Geography class, he raised his hand to speak and, when given that permission by Ms White, he said out of seemingly nowhere, as he had not prepared anything special for the day and was just feeling sleepy: ¡°I cheated in Spanish today, at the test¡± ¡°What, Barry?¡± Ms White was confused and she walked to his desk, one hand behind her ear. He showed her the palm of his hand, all scribbles for the verbs gustar and encantar, ¡°what did you say? No you didn¡¯t, come on!¡± ¡°Actually, he did¡± Mandy came up as a witness, one row on the left, ¡°I saw you look at your hand during the test, you¡¯re such a LOSER¡± Barry had not been surprised by Mandy¡¯s inflamed testimony, as he had dumped her for her best friend, Becky, ten days ago, but was now dating Millie, her next door neighbor. Ms White closed her eyes, brought her hand to her forehead, ¡°you¡¯re interrupting my lesson to tell me this?¡± ¡°It was weighing on me¡± he lied. ¡°Now I have to report you¡± Every different kind of place, context, circumstances was good, but Barry especially liked the times when he was able to create an argument between him and Ms White in front of her class, assessing her self-control, her persistence, her energy. That she might have been tired that day, or that it was last period, didn¡¯t prevent her from being consistent in both positive and negative reinforcements. He admired that she passed most of his tests, except for the infamous ¡®I think you miss being punished by me¡¯, of course, which would go down in history. ¡°You could just¡­ let it go¡± he proposed, shrugging, and the rest of the class discreetly cheered, some: ¡°Yes, come on, who hasn¡¯t cheated before?¡± Or: ¡°Give the guy a break!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t¡± she said. ¡°Why not?¡± She sighed even heavier, eyes wide, astonished at his behavior and naivet¨¦: ¡°I work here, Barry, I¡¯m not here to be the recipient of your tales of cheating during tests or to humor you¡± ¡°So you mean we cannot trust you?¡± ¡°Of course you cannot trust me! I will report you to the Spanish teacher, and let her decide what she wants to do with that information¡± ¡°Snitch!¡± Someone coughed inside a fist at the back of the class. She heard it and she didn¡¯t care, a sorry smile on her lips, both her index fingers tapping against each other, ¡°you are just very silly to have told me that in the first place, Barry. You have dug your own hole¡± ¡°So you mean we cannot confide in you when we have problems?¡± he pushed it a bit further. ¡°Well no, I¡± He cut her off on purpose, seeing the frustration grow at the bottom of her stare, but she was calm that day, it was a morning lesson, she still had vigor and reactivity, and patience, ¡°you know, you teachers are also supposed to be on our sides, for us teenagers, we¡¯re going through puberty, and lots of stuff, and some kids have no one to talk to!¡± he had concluded, sending a wave of outrage through the group. Ms White stepped closer, her face relaxed, unbothered, and she waited for all the offended whispers to die out, and she let him finish his rant, and she spoke like she would have addressing a small child asking why the sky was blue: ¡°well of course, you can count on teachers, on me, if you need to talk. We will listen, sometimes, we will try to help you if we can. There is not any single teacher in this building that doesn¡¯t care about their students¡± she lied, as Mr O¡¯Donovan, for instance, didn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass. ¡°But¡± she rose one of her two busy index fingers in the air, ¡°you have to understand, before you spill the contents of your hearts to people working at your school, that if you mention something dangerous, like drugs, or like, bad influences, or abusive situations, I am obligated to act on those. Honestly, this is a double edge sword: you have allies, here, at school, my dear children, but also responsible staff members who have been given the task to protect you and protocols to follow for the best¡± He pretended not to have listened to any word of this beautiful summary of the situation, ¡°how is cheating at a Spanish test dangerous?¡± Barry asked, producing a snob sniffle sound from his nostrils, in control of his little tease. Another sigh, this time, she went from scratching to massaging her forehead. She had such nice hands, such lovely index fingers and, by that time, the wedding ring on her left side had vanished, ¡°it¡¯s not dangerous, Barry like perilous¡± she said, ¡°but it is a break of the rules. It¡¯s like if you told me that you had robbed a bank, or committed a crime. I would encourage you to turn yourself in to the police, of course, and¡± ¡°Why not encourage me to inform the Spanish teacher of my actions instead of snitching directly to him then?¡± ¡°Would you?¡± she looked at him puzzled, uncertain, ¡°because that would be the best, obviously¡± ¡°Yes¡± he lied. ¡°I will go with you then, to make sure it is true¡± ¡°Then no, nevermind¡± he giggled. She rolled her eyes, concluding, ¡°anyway, I cannot let any of you confess such things to me and let you believe that this is a valid system, cheating through life is not a good message from an educator, you have to understand that. All of you have to comprehend the difference between disclosing stuff to your friends or families, and confiding to us, teachers¡± So she reported him and he got detained. That actually gave him an excuse not to attend the morning briefing Hobbes had planned that Saturday. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (11) 2021 Bog After all this, she identified the monster she had been crafting. Barry was building a Bolt suit, following a new modernized concept, he was recreating it from zero and she, on the other end, was possibly making an abomination. How did she go from extinguished to lit up, how did she go from barely making it out alive of work at the end of the day to driving home merrily, smiling at the angry commuters on the road and eager to start the end of the day, to live it, as fully as if it was another actual day? She called herself crazy for it, for climbing the staircase of her building two by two, for taking a moment to catch her breath in front of her apartment door, for tidying the hair behind her ear before entering the place. Then there was the day the news announced that after almost ten months of sudden disappearance, the Team of local superheroes had come back to the city. As she was almost ready to leave for work, Eugenie¡¯s hand holding her coffee cup had frozen above her smartphone. ¡°A possible wormhole or lapse in the time continuity¡­¡± she read aloud, almost screaming at Barry, who jumped from his seat and came to consult the article by her side. ¡°Hobbes, the main speaker and known identity of the group of superbeings, says that¡ª¡± Barry gasped and read too, then let the sentence trail off ¡°It was a covert mission, that ¡®s why I didn¡¯t know about it¡± ¡°They were on the Moon¡± she said, I fucking hate the moon, ¡°don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m going to take the day off¡± Barry turned his eyes towards her, they were vacant, empty, very large. So near her, he was soaring one head taller than her ¡°why?¡± ¡°Well¡± Yeah why? She asked herself, and she didn¡¯t really know ¡°we can¡­ get in touch with¡ª We can¡ª¡± she stopped herself, shivered and gurgled a very cold air contrasting with the warmth of her coffee. The vibes of the flat had sunk and chills the size of cantaloupes dropped along her spine. She only then noticed the somber expression on Barry¡¯s traits. Oh, she thought. That must be what criminals he fought as a superhero saw before he kicked their asses. That was possibly his ired face. Fascinating, ¡°you don¡¯t agree Barry?¡± she was so captivated that she handed him the stick to beat her down. ¡°Look at you¡± he snapped ¨Cphew, already?¡ª ¡°taking control of things. You don¡¯t know shit about Hobbes, Ms White, and you don¡¯t know shit about superhero things¡± ¡°What the fuck is that tone¡± she questioned, while in strangely familiar territory, the one of an old classroom, she remembered, the one she had been assigned during the years Barry attended her lessons, and that classroom from the past didn¡¯t even have a window. In the winter, students and teachers could all forget that daylight existed. She almost laughed at the familiarity but thought it best to repress it. She straightened her back. He took a deep breath ¡°it¡¯s not a tone!¡± ¡°Well what is it?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a nobody Eugenie White¡± he spat at her, ¡°you think someone like Hobbes is going to listen to you?¡± Thanks to years of being bullied by adolescents, Eugenie darted a blas¨¦ eye at him, sipping on her coffee with exaggerated slurping noise, ¡°control your emotions, Barry, you¡¯re way out of line¡± No wonder twenty-five percent of educators didn¡¯t survive their first year in a school. And a half. Or their first six months, if they worked in a middle school. ¡°Then detain me, send me to the principal¡¯s office¡± he stood up to face her, his nostrils flaring. He was so tall. ¡°Hum¡± he was really towering her. She forced herself out of her reverie, remembering she also had to hold her ground, ¡°Detain you? First of all Barry, tell me what the fuck is going on. And second of all¡ª¡± The same cold air bumped inside her mouth, she closed it. Opened it again and hesitated. She changed her mind.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Say it¡± he challenged her, fuming ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to say anything¡± she lied ¡°I actually didn¡¯t have a second of all comeback this time¡± she lied more ¡°Barry I would never¡ª¡± Remorse obstructed her throat, for even thinking about the words. That¡¯s what people on their first year of teaching didn¡¯t comprehend, the ones who fled in front of savage creatures entering into and soaking in puberty: those young people¡¯s anger and merciless attacks came from pure deep pain in their hearts. ¡°You want me to leave! You want to get rid of me!¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± He had slammed the door of the bedroom like it was his, forgetting that she still had her badge, shoes and car keys to pick up from there. Looking at her watch and realizing that she would not make it to the first period of the school day, she took a deep breath and entered her sleeping quarters, ¡°I¡¯m still mad!¡± Barry roared at her. ¡°Me too!¡± she frowned at him, gathering her things in energetic strides, ¡°you are acting like such a dick¡± That evening, after suffering many other outbursts and excesses of drama from her teenagers, breaking some rumbles in the recreation area, fighting over the last strawberries of the supermarket and facing some more road-rage on her way back, she still came home with the same giddiness in her heart as she had in the past few months, and she really wondered if she was insane. Had she, in a way, missed little Douchebarry? The thought disturbed her. She dropped her heavy grocery bags, out of breath, delicately depositing the strawberries on the table and admiring their shine for a second. She found the apartment spotless, all the old socks removed from the floor, cat toys gathered in a nice pile. As she drew a finger to swipe the entrance shelves, she found no trace of dust. Wow. Everything had been sprinkled and smelled like lemon. Even the glass panels of the windows looked like there was no window anymore, letting in the sunlight on the grateful plants in their pots. A bouquet of orange tulips was displayed in the middle of the dinner table, inside a vase that she had never seen before. Barry got out of the bathroom in his underwear shorts and a towel in his hand, his hair wet dripping on his neck and shoulders. Their eyes met and he jumped ¡°Jesus fucking Christ you scared me¡± he landed a hand on his heart, but on the wrong side of his chest, ¡°you¡¯re early¡± ¡°I¡¯m not early¡± she said ¡°Ah shit¡± he shook his head, ¡°I was looking at your clock in the bathroom the whole time and forgot it¡¯s out of batteries again. Your bathroom is like the land of what-the-fuck o¡¯clock¡± She looked at him while he was rubbing his hair inside the towel, the huge scar on his abdomen barely shrunk from the initial healing phase, forming a very ugly hook on the side, still swollen in the middle. She listened to his breathing, calm, filling the quiet room. She listened to the grocery paper bags crinkle as they unfolded from her tight grip on them. Our bathroom, she thought. Barry never had a problem with parading half naked in the house. She stood and said nothing, intrigued and perturbed at the same time. He would carelessly just take his shirt off without warning to bring his stomach just under her nose and require that she would examine his scar since the first day he had started taking care of himself without her help, like a baby koala proud of his newly acquired grooming skills. ¡°Look at it, it¡¯s getting better, don¡¯t you think? It doesn¡¯t have that awful purple hue anymore¡± ¡°Barry, put a shirt on¡± He would take a step back, feigning confusion, ¡°Why? You have seen my butt, haven¡¯t you? You have cleaned my puke and sponged my blood and seen my butt, haven¡¯t you?¡± She would smile at him horribly ¡°yes, it is getting better, Barry. Good job¡± he made her feel so inadequate for raising an issue about his domestic exhibitionism, ¡°I¡¯m just saying it¡¯s cold, it¡¯s winter, you¡¯re going to catch death¡± ¡°Death¡± he would snort, ¡°I laugh at death¡± ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡± ¡°Blablabla¡± It was not winter anymore, and they were entering Spring at full speed thanks to global warming, and Barry was too many times not wearing any shirt. Eugenie White just felt tense, strangely tense. Tense like weight in her chest, a looming headache rod, ringing in her ears, like, bungee-rope-tense. Could she be his mother, by way of calculations of age? Yes, she saw, cringing. MOM, she recalled painfully from her encounter with Barry¡¯s date, Anatolia. A young mom, for sure, but the reality was possible, biologically feasible. She felt tense because he was, like, how could she put it. Her ears rang and popped, sounds blurred like she was underwater, rapidly restored clearer than before. Because he was, because she was ¡­ Yes? her inside voice sneered I¡¯m trying to find a way to put it, she demanded I¡¯m curious as to how you will manage to put it. What do you mean That you are a weirdo. Oh I will, I will find a way to put it, believe me. She left Barry to marinate in the silence and closed her eyes and took the time to think. Conquered by sensory overload after the long and overstimulating Friday, Eugenie let her mind absorb the quieter sounds of the house, the clock ticking, wood planks of the floor cracking softly, paper un-tucking and scrunching, the light water drops from the faucet to the sink. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (12) Entrance Barry, Barry¡­ He had been a lot before, at school, and now he was a whole other lot. A lot of personality and cunning and complex things that she was hardly beginning to uncover. Personality, really? The voice was back, usually, called to intervene inside Eugenie¡¯s mind when she was full of shit. Just¡­ bear with! She begged for patience. She eyed him, forcing the expression on her face to remain unreadable, praying that she was successful. He had put on a tee-shirt and was drying his ears, looking down at the floor. Some water was still drizzling on his arms, following the curve of his elbows. Eugenie grimaced. A lot of personality and a lot of curves of elbows and lines and angles and a lot of handsomeness and a lot of circus-like show and colors, and he was living in her house, and because he was not a teenager anymore, she felt very tense about it. Here we GO, GIRL She sometimes regarded him as a child, existing in an endless childhood, and sometimes she noticed that he had become a young man, a person in early adult years. A person with a heavy responsibility, a secret one that could be shared with absolutely no one, the burden kept his and only his, no one to take care of him, not even Uberwoman. With a status that she should respect, and her own, that she should enforce, on the opposite plane, on a very guarded plane, on a very cautious one too. ¡°Why are you making this face, Ms White?¡± Her attempts at displaying a stoic expression were not as perfected as she hoped to, but she could still lie, ¡°I¡¯m going to sneeze, I think¡± Where she should have seen the little student Barry, she saw a guy who had emerged from that five-year-ago tormented juvenile, a grown man. Was it wrong? She saw it, now, better, shook her head. Where she should have seen ¨Cwith all those shoulds, could she have filled up a river and made a bridge? Undoubtedly¡ª a young man, she couldn¡¯t detach the memory of student Barry. Where she should have seen a kid, she saw a guy, she couldn¡¯t ignore how much of a guy he had evolved into, someone who would wear a suit and tie and whose age would be hard to tell, someone who wasn¡¯t a teenager anymore. Just a guy. But this guy had been her pupil, so she struggled to un-see the ¡°Are you still going to sneeze?¡± Barry was becoming impatient, ¡°We are out of tissues but I can give you some toilet paper¡± And just thinking about it made her tense, for God¡¯s sake! Meta-thinking: why am I thinking about thinking about it? Why am I feeling wrong? You¡¯re not listening, said the voice, obviously, because Barry is hot. Don¡¯t say that word. She flinched Okay so: he¡¯s sexy, he¡¯s attractive. He¡¯s smoking hh¡ª Barry was kind of hot. He was not kind of hot, he was hot. He had been born a generation after her, perhaps even two, and she was a woman close to her forties. Wasn¡¯t she supposed to be interested in men her age, wasn¡¯t she supposed to not label people his age as hot? Was she supposed to ¨Cfilling another river with a dam of supposed-tos¡ª not even notice younger individuals? Especially. What do you mean especially? Especially, the voice repeated. His youth was like a pustule under the sun ready to burst and the sun was there every day. It was like a drop of paint too heavy on a canvass, drying in the summer at the corner of a window pane, solidifying into a hard dot but that would never dry if poked. It was contagious, it was a fucking malady. She felt disoriented and unequipped, facing that ancient state of mind she had lost with time and disillusion. It was a distant phenomenon, bodily as much as mentally, and sometimes, it felt like that, like it had been another life but, some other days, hanging out with Barry Masquevert, it seemed like yesterday. The young Eugenie White, the tiny Eugenie White, they were both just there, belonging to the same incarnation as old grumpy and close-minded Eugenie White. How could she have forgotten, her own days, budding from a little girl to a demoiselle at the lyceeum, before she moved to the United States? It was funny to be so young, she could see it now, and to wait for something fantastic at the bus stop, to actually walk to the damn bus stop with a pair of Walkman¡¯s headphones screaming in her ears and dictating the rhythm and choreography of her stroll. It was so funny to believe, profoundly, that the future would be better, exciting, grand, it was so divine to trust in tomorrow, for a short period, to feel like one was standing at the edge of a gorgeous unknown, stretching their toes into that emptiness, into life. She had misplaced that feeling, that memory, suffering from amnesia as most adults did, otherwise, she was convinced of it, a lot of them would opt to discontinue living. She had donated those things to forgetting, to oblivion, why? Again, You¡¯re not listening, because, girl, otherwise, you¡¯d jump off the bridge you imagined building with all your shouldnts.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Ah yes, right, she acquiesced How could you hold those vibrations so dear, so near your heart, and surrender them to extinction one second later? Sometimes she would look at Barry, hiding behind a plate she was drying from the sink, or from behind the screen of her laptop when she was pretending to type some reports, and she thought, why are we so scared to hope again, for the best? Life is like that, boring. Nothing to offer. No, I cannot believe it, I didn¡¯t use to believe it You believe it now, chiquita. But then, she would really look at him, the perfect shape of his broad shoulders, his back arched like the one of a goose, his chest carved out of marble, the cute undisciplined strands of hair at the back of his skull. Barry¡¯s body was the one of a person who had done nothing but work it out all those years, sleep-deprived, sometimes malnourished or over-caffeinated, but exercised to the limit. Some gods had decided to frame him from a rough stone, all in angles and lines, and round lines, and curved lines, how was such a miracle possible out of stone, sediment perhaps ¨Cthere is no such thing as volcanic rock¡ª, but still, hard stone? The stone is what your heart should be made of What if, she opposed provocatively, my heart is still young? Maybe I¡¯m still that little girl who jumped from the boat in her undergarments to swim with the whales? Don¡¯t think those things. Don¡¯t think those things. She had learned to cease asking Barry to put on a shirt, and she learned to take it like a lady of good reputation and maturity. But beyond the issue of being dressed or not, then, there was his overall attitude, his face perched on top of his chest, the little things his mouth did, unaware, like clicking his tongue, pouting like an entitled prince, the things the rest of him did, crossing his arms, tapped his fingers, tilted his head and plunged into eye contact, his face so young and impertinent, his stare dark and soft. She really had to stop, as they were entering their tenth month of living together, as she had the very scary feeling that Barry¡¯s special abilities also provided him with some sort of an added sense, a perception, and she was terrified he could read her mind ¨Ceven though he really couldn¡¯t. Another late night and she had been reviewing a pile of essays on her couch, legs resting on a fluffy pillow that she¡¯d put on the coffee table under her feet, and he was walking around experimenting with a radar, the hood of his sweater brought back on his head, some unkempt locks of his hair sticking out of it, when he had abruptly stopped and looked at her, ¡°you have a shitty Internet, Ms White, and that¡¯s the truth¡± ¡°Will you give me a cookie, please?¡± she had said, too absorbed by her task to react to his comment on the quality of the connection in her apartment. She had baked those cookies the day before with chocolate chip and they were nicely waiting to be eaten under a plastic cover. ¡°I¡¯m stuck under this tower of papers¡± He had recoiled and frowned at her, gotten rid of the hood on his head, his hair bouncing and swaying, ¡°a quickie, what the hell?¡± ¡°Barry!¡± she shouted out, honestly amused, ¡°oh my god, a coo-kie, from the kitchen, please, one of those? Not a quickie, oh my god, you¡¯re hilarious¡± He retreated towards the kitchen while facing her, pointed a finger at her, ¡°you said quickie¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t¡± she defended herself, laughing generously from the silliness. ¡°Okay¡± he admitted, ¡°I did that on purpose ¡®cause I love making you laugh. That¡¯s like, my thing. And obviously it worked because your mental age is, like, twelve, and your mind is in the gutter¡± ¡°it¡¯s comical, isn¡¯t it?¡± He shook his head as he brought her the prized cookie on a little paper napkin, ¡°should I, like, deliver it to you in an enticing manner, then?¡± and she was too busy laughing, she didn¡¯t immediately realize that he was making the delivery unusually playful. He could sometimes do that, gaze at her from deep under his eyebrows, bite his lip, shimmy his shoulders under his shirt to impertinently show off, as sometimes Barry wearing clothes and just existing was as testing as him brushing his teeth while activating the kettle on the kitchen stand in his underwear while drying from the shower. That time had been the cookie episode, and he had taken it as far as stepping one leg on the other side of hers, looking down at her and leaning forward like he was going to sit on top of her lap, slightly folding his knees, and Eugenie White had held her breath, waiting, not thinking about anything, just staring at his warm, gentle and somewhat wise clear eyes, in which a remnant of icy blue lightning always seemed to be dancing. ¡°Well done¡± she said in a low voice, snatching the cookie and putting it on the cushion next to her, but he lingered one more nanosecond, his face almost at level with hers, so close. She maintained his gaze without saying anything. She knew she could produce a pretty respectable poker face, which she had polished with years of having to remain impassible in front of all the shocking things high school students were able to come up with. She knew, well, she assumed. She certainly wished for it to be true at that very moment. At last he had broken his own little spell and laughed his fresh laugh at his goofiness and maladroitly skipped out of the couch area, barely avoiding all kinds of obstacles, ¡°eat your cookie, ah fuck¡± he tripped against the cat toys, ¡°Ms White¡± ¡°Thank you for the cookie¡± ¡°The cookie is all yours¡± he recited, like a poem. Ten minutes later and he had noticed that she had not touched the cookie, ¡°it was all to get my attention, wasn¡¯t it¡± So she had eaten it with no appetite, just to bring back the peace. There was a turbulence in the air that needed tempering. You handled that well, you crazy litchi bitch, she had told herself. As opposed to what? Letting Barry sit on her lap and scatter all her carefully arranged sheets of paper at the four corners of her flat, blown by a savage breeze? Shoving the cookie in his mouth and biting off the other half? Handling it very poorly now, she heard. Those are just thoughts Don¡¯t think those things. Don¡¯t think those things. As opposed to what? Grabbing his glorious elbows and pulling him against her? Using his powerful shoulders to hook her hands on them and climb him like a tree? Sixteen-year-old Eugenie White was watching, her lips slightly parted, she was breathing shallowly through the cheap lipstick she had bought at the mall, skipping ninth period, she was gushing, texting all her friends about it. She was listening to a Mariah Carey song in her CD player lying on her bed and daydreaming about it, replaying the fantasy in her mind over and over. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (13) M¨¦lange That day with the orange tulips During the week, every midday of the week, she had sat with her lunch in her chair at the desk, coffee brewing in the machine, and grabbed her phone to open Snapchat. Eugenie had heard the name Snapchat for a long time now from the exchanges between her students and she had gathered that it was a place of importance on the internet, but Barry had finally explained to her what Snapchat was and convinced her to download the application on her device. Barry always sent her very boring pictures of her cat or something funny happening on her very animated street but then, as of late, he had also started to send her lots of selfies. When he was taking care of the plants, removing the dead leaves from the pot, or some other times, it was a picture of him above the shiny sink he had cleaned, or his face smiling wildly with all his socks rolled in the background, and the caption, tuesday funday, him holding a glass of Coca Cola cheering to her, cheers to all the geography teachers. One time, it had been a picture of his sweaty face and flushed cheeks, hair stuck to his forehead and the top of his shoulders captured in the frame, with the message i did a hundred pushups are you proud, like Generation Z refused to capitalize or punctuate their sentences, she knew. After ten seconds, the photo disappeared. He was not smiling in that picture, it was just a snap without any substantial chat taken in the spur of the moment, the expression on his face unreadable, not posing, just snapping, she supposed. ¡°Fucking hot¡± she whispered to herself, then placed a hand on her mouth, aghast. The photo had vanished but was anchored in her memory, every little reflection of the sun on his face. But this Friday, she had not received any image on the little app, and even made an effort to lunch with her colleagues instead of alone in her classroom to catch up on some academics and gossip. Her short but heated argument with Barry in the morning was a new thing, Eugenie saw, but she didn¡¯t trouble herself much with it. She would find, eventually, what was wrong with Barry and try to help him figure his shit out, after all, that¡¯s what she had intended to do the whole time! And that was a hundred percent more reasonable as a project than the one to be fan-girling over his reportage or checking out his butt when he was super focused on making pancakes and flipping them in the pan. ¡°I bought the flowers with your money though, from your purse, the other purse, you know¡± ¡°How¡± She faced him with astonishment and faked anger. He replied : ¡°relax, they were cheap, shit, I don¡¯t mean¡± he shook his head, defeated. He produced a distraction, eyeballing her hard and dubiously as she was standing in front of him with her coat and winter hat on, one mitten still attached to her sleeve and her school badge still dangling from her neck. He stiffly put on knee on the ground and grabbed that hand of hers that was mitten-free. She took a step back in panic, ¡°you¡¯re okay Barry?¡± ¡°Shit, now it looks like a marriage proposal¡± he chuckled, rubbed the bridge of his nose. Barry calculated his angle with more cautiousness; he still had a hard time with changes of altitude, anything that threw him down and diagonally at the same time. He brought his knee back up and just crouched under her nose, wearing a pair of bright white clean socks, in the position of a toad with her hand still in his, ¡°all I want to say, Ms White is¡± She waited, anxious, feeling much too hot wrapped in the feathers of her coat, the wool of her hat burning her brain, ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for earlier. I was afraid, you know, the news from the Teams, coming as a surprise, unannounced¡± ¡°I was afraid Jake, for my people¡± ¡°No no no, I¡¯m serious¡± She lifted her chin, ¡°makes sense¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the brat I was in high school. That was all a show¡± ¡°What¡± ¡°That was all an act, you know, the persona I built for myself at school¡± ¡°What¡± ¡°So whatever¡± he rushed through his obviously rehearsed declaration: ¡°you¡¯re not a nobody, Ms White¡± She shook her head, trying to focus, ¡°I don¡¯t mind being a nobody, Barry, I just didn¡¯t like your tone. Your tone was shitty, your words were shit¡± ¡°You¡¯re more someone to me than all those guys in superhero suits. You actually mean the w¡ª¡± ¡°Listen, you don¡¯t have to do this¡± she cut him off and added her gloved hand to his on top of hers and patted it like a little hamster, ¡°I know. I understand¡± He nodded and swallowed something that seemed to be crunchy peanut butter, ¡°I want to ask you like¡± Then, magically, Barry the student was restored. He was still here with his eager, keen traits, his hopeful face, little Freshman Barry stretching his arm up in Geography class, demanding to answer a question or produce a comment that would throw her off. Or little-slightly-older Barry on the hood of a car waiting for her with the ugliest bouquet of flowers she had ever seen ¨Cthe tulips were a clear upgrade. Vulnerable, uncertain, abandoned into the wilderness. Alone, she saw, and hopeful. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Like¡­ I know you want me to be gone from your apartment because, to be honest, I have been blooming here like those tulips and with the power of love and you want me to spread my wings and fly¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. She concurred vividly, so accustomed to him as she was that she could ride two metaphor-trains at the same time, ¡°such a flower you are, indeed. Such a bird¡± ¡°Like a hawk. Like a buzzard. An eagle¡± ¡°You can be any bird you want, Barry¡± she followed, patiently. ¡°Can I stay a little bit longer? Before we uh, contact Hobbes?¡± When she returned home from work every day, she had observed with time, there was never any music playing. Barry never appeared to switch on the radio or anything, listening to shows and podcasts through earphones, and she always stepped back into her flat in an ambient silence, the walls standing still there. He was definitely still hiding and avoiding being noticed. She looked at him in the absence of noise. The windows were well isolated and it was still early evening, and the boulevard was not yet bursting with the Friday night cheer which would come. Barry was not begging, he was not imploring, he was just hoping. After all this time, and he didn¡¯t even feel secure with her. Oh, she thought, with great sorrow, what it must have taken from him, those isolated years in his unique situation, to constantly feel on the move, never stopping, never trusting. Her heart broke for him that, out of her offer in the morning to reconnect with Hobbes, while she had meant to celebrate some good news, she had made him feel like she was looking forward to getting rid of him. Just like when she had kicked him out of Geography. ¡°Alright¡± she took off her coat because she was burning up, and let it drop on the floor, then got rid of her mittens. She sat down in a lotus cross of legs in front of him, on the floor, in the silence, between her grocery bags. ¡°Okay¡± she said, choosing her words carefully, ¡°you are uh¡­ not any bother here, as I explained before¡± Meaning I want you to stay, don¡¯t ever leave, Barry, don¡¯t ever disappear from my life, don¡¯t ever leave me alone ¡°And also, Barry, I said to you that you could stay as long as you need, here, and I meant it. I thought you knew it and you wouldn¡¯t question it¡± The expression on his face was receptive, so she went on: ¡°whatever you decide to do about your uh¡­ people, out there, you can decide from here and you don¡¯t have to ask¡± Meaning, I don¡¯t ever want you to feel lonesome and abandoned, in the jungle, in the desert, the Arctic, cold or hot, I will protect you, I will shelter you, I¡ª ¡°Ah okay so you get it¡± he smiled bright ¡°and I can stay¡± ¡°Pretty much¡± she grimaced, wishing she had been granted more power play, but he was a fast thinker and a fabulous drawer of conclusions out of methodical logic ¡°and wait, I made this for you, a while back¡± She brought her coat on her lap, shuffled into the inside pocket. ¡°You made me something?¡± He was beaming. Here he was again, the teenager Barry. ¡°I had something made for you¡± she corrected, feeling the heat conquering her cheeks although she wasn¡¯t wrapped in her outside clothes anymore. She dangled a little key in front of his eyes, attached to a key chain that imitated an octagonal road sign. ¡°I know you prefer to¡­ use the balcony and everything but I had a dream about something and it made me think about uh¡­ about keys¡± ¡°You dreamed about it?¡± ¡°I had some very bizarre dreams about it yes¡± she said as calmly as she could, ¡°you can have this key, also, to come in and out of here through the door like a normal person¡± ¡°What dreams?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, focus, look, it¡¯s a key¡± ¡°Oh my god¡± he exclaimed, moving the key chain between his fingers, ¡°it says Slow Down on it¡± ¡°Yes¡± she raised her eyebrows, satisfied with herself ¡°It says Slow Down, and I am the Bolt¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying. Also I wanted one that said Pain in the Ass but they ran out of those¡± Not willing to prolong that face to face and sensing that there was a hug coming and she didn¡¯t wish to participate in it, Eugenie rose quickly on her feet and, with her right hand, she grabbed an enormous leek from one of the grocery bags, brandished it like a sword and mimicked a knighting ceremony, brushing on his hair and then landing on his other shoulder : ¡°Barry Mas¡­ what¡¯s your middle name?¡± ¡°Astrid¡± ¡°Astrid?¡± ¡°Astrid¡± ¡°Astrid?¡± she repeated, ¡°who the fuck¡± ¡°Who the fuck? My father named me like this, Ms White. And here is a bullying-free house here, if I¡¯m not mistaken. It¡¯s 2020-plus, names don¡¯t have gender anymore! I will take no mockery about my middle name¡± Eugenie swallowed a snicker, re-centering herself. ¡°Come on¡± he said, ¡°please restart the rite, I¡¯m loving this¡± She went back to her motion, one shoulder, his head, ¡°I declare you, Barry Astrid, hm¡± she cleared her throat so as not to give in to laughter, ¡°Astrid Masquevert, an official uh¡ª¡± ¡°Roommate?¡± he asked fervently, still cowered like a frog at her feet, bending his neck to be able to throw his curious eyes at her. ¡°Roommates pay rent¡± ¡°Guest?¡± She exhaled heavily, restarted the ceremony for the third time, ¡°I declare you, once and for all, Barry Astrid Masquevert, an existing uh¡­ person of this house¡± ¡°The Omaticaya say that a person is born twice¡± ¡°The Oma¡ª¡± Eugenie scoffed, ¡°Yes. You are Omaticaya now. You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree¡± ¡°I will also choose Ninat as a woman¡± ¡°She¡¯s the best singer¡± ¡°Not bad¡± he approved, then removed her hand from his right shoulder and kissed it, a loud smack, cartoonish, devoid of any desire or drive, but a roll of chills climbed up her spine, and those chills were the size of grapefruits ¡°you¡¯re all red¡± She was indignant and ready to disappear into a hole. There was nowhere to hide. The sound of the kiss echoed against the walls of her brain. ¡°It¡¯s warm in here, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Not really¡± Barry pushed on his feet to get up but he had been maintaining his squatted position for a bit too long, so he lost his balance, groaned, fell back on his butt, one hand on his stomach, ¡°damn! I keep forgetting to do sit-ups¡± She gave him a lift with her hand still in his, the sensation of the casual kiss he had placed on it still lingering, hot, sending waves up her arm. He rocketed from the floor to face her, brought very close by the move. So close, so tall. He smelled like her soap and her shower gel and, below, she heard the little clicks of the key and the key chain he was putting in his pocket. He kept his smile on, that remarkable smile that was his, bringing so many different messages following the contours and the folds of his lips, cocky, cute, also cosy, kind, revering: ¡°thank you¡± he said, not taking a step back, ¡°gracias¡± he added, ¡°like they say in your native country¡± ¡°Native country?¡± How did she not flinch from this bubble of boiling proximity, she wasn¡¯t certain, you¡¯re such a boss, look at you, impassible, unwavering, master of your domain ¡°Spain!¡± ¡°Spain?¡± She rolled her eyes, pretending to be exasperated ¡°Barry, I grew up in Swe-den. In Scandinavia. Not Switzerland, not Spain, Sweden, for heavens¡¯ sake¡± but she took advantage of the pleasantry to break free from their eyelock, trying not to rush out of it but fleeing with all her might. She gathered her things, avoiding his eyes now. ¡°Our first fight¡± he said after she turned her back to him, racing to the cupboards, ¡°I think it went well, wouldn¡¯t you say Ms White?¡± She turned back slowly, lifting the grocery bags, facing him again, exhausted ¡°yes Barry, it went very well¡± PART 2: The threshold of the Han (14) Cliff Eugenie decided to take the week off work. She thought that perhaps she would actually quit her job. Her heart was aching. For the first time in a year, she thought that what lied ahead was truly insurmountable. She slid under the covers of her bed with her cat on the side, stroking him with eyes looking into the void. She opened her bottle of water with her other hand and forgot to drink from it. The clock went from nine o¡¯clock to eleven and Terence changed position five times. Five times she interrupted her stroking and resumed it without thinking, without blinking. She thought about her caravan, the only inheritance that was left to her by her parents. Why wouldn¡¯t she just live in it and travel around, find substitute teaching vacancies where she went? Why would she continue this life that didn¡¯t make any sense? Her index finger was itchy on the right hand, which was an indication of a lot of unshed tears, but she didn¡¯t feel able to cry. She was frozen, her face was imprisoned in a block of ice, and the air inside her throat was cold, raspy, quivering. She visioned the events of the afternoon on her mind¡¯s screen. She and Barry jogging in the park, and suddenly, the sky turning black. All the phones in everyone¡¯s pockets had started to ring with the usual alert for lockdown. Her heart had skipped a beat when she had looked at the details from the emergency message and discovered that there was an added image, ¡°BARRY¡± she raised the phone in front of him, ¡°Your team!¡± He couldn¡¯t believe it, and his eyes had kept going from the cell phone to the flying saucer above them as it passed and released the Autumn sun, back to the screen and then to Eugenie¡¯s face. Something heavy had swollen inside Eugenie¡¯s rib cage. She had always been preparing for the moment where his mutant entourage would make a return into the world but, at the same time, she had seen that all the preparation in the universe would not be sufficient. A hundred or zero percent, it was the same. ¡°They¡¯ve been called to intervene!¡± Barry had shouted, then lowered his voice, ¡°it looks like¡ª¡± He glanced at the phone again. ¡°They seem to be on the spaceship thing¡± she had forced a cheerful tone. She had thought: how weird is time. How weird is a year¡¯s difference. An earthly rotation around the sun earlier, she¡¯d had given anything for those superheroes to be around and take the Barry burden off her hands and, presently, she meant to jealously hide him from those people. Those people who had let him get hurt by a bunch of crazy extraterrestrial robots and abandoned him to his fate. Barry had kept shaking his head, perplexed, ¡°I have¡­ I have¡ª¡± ¡°You have to go!¡± ¡°There is an attack¡± he sounded like he was justifying, asking permission. There might have been something he sensed about the brutality of this new episode, ¡°I should, I should¡ª¡± as a reflex, his hand had brushed against his abdomen, scratched it through his jumper anxiously, ¡°I¡¯m rusty, I don¡¯t know if¡ª¡± Prolonged proximity had rendered all the subtle twitches of his face so familiar to Eugenie, she could tell he was giving her a way to protest his plan, ¡°noo, nonsense¡± she had said, rubbing the sides of his arms encouragingly, ¡°go home and get your suit!¡± ¡°My suit¡± he hesitated, took a deep breath, ¡°you¡¯re right, my suit¡­¡± He had read the emergency message a tenth time, frowning, munching something invisible inside his mouth. ¡°Barry, you have to GO!¡± ¡°I have to go¡± he had repeated pensively, giving her back the little phone. The same one that he had confiscated a year before, when she had wished to call for help to aid his situation. Time. Dimensions. Hearts. Two hearts in one home. Standing in front of him with her hands on his shoulders, she had swallowed hard, smiled bright, so she could fight the emotion. It was Barry¡¯s job, there was nothing she could do about it, it was what he loved to do, what he meant to do and he would have done uninterrupted if he had not been gunned down and forced into hiding. She was very impressed by him. ¡°What the fuck are you crying?¡± ¡°Shut up Barry, I¡¯m proud of you, that¡¯s all¡± she had shaken her head to decrease the drama, ¡°I¡¯m humbled by you, shut he fuck up¡± she had shoved her hands inside her large pockets, ¡°go on and¡± she wasn¡¯t sure what to recommend, ¡°be safe and uh, all those things like, be super safe Barry, I will not be a nurse again, you hear me?¡± He had smiled back at her like a puppy, squinting under the sun, ¡°I¡­¡± he had looked up at the sky, unhurried. She remembered that he had all the time in the world since he could bolt through it. ¡°I¡­¡± he had looked down at the ground, ¡°I will go and uh¡­ I will be back later, to tell you all the gossip, okay?¡± Eugenie¡¯s throat was so tight that the air was barely going through it, ¡°you know where to find me¡± ¡°I will come through the door¡± ¡°That¡¯s good¡± Barry had exhaled sharply and turned around, taken two steps, his hands making fists and releasing their fingers in turn, then he had stopped for a nanosecond and spun back to face her, an expression of fright and resolution on his traits. He had lifted her chin softly and landed his lips on hers. He had kissed her like in the movies for a good five seconds and she had felt his legs start trembling, become aware that her own hands had dissolved inside her pockets. She had closed her eyes and let her heart explode inside her chest. He had finally broken the embrace, took a step back, ¡°oh shit¡± he had said, smiling sheepishly, ¡°oh shit¡± he had chuckled, tripped on his feet and landed on his butt on the grass, quickly bouncing back up and, this time, after one last glance, he had taken off at supersonic speed. ¡°Madame, you have to LOCKDOWN¡±! a police officer had shouted at her as she was strolling back to her building, and she had noticed only then the crowd of uniforms swarming through the streets and waving at everyone to close shops and confine to safety. The boulevard was flashing with red and blue in the descending evening, and the air was pure, fresh, smelling of leaves. She had wondered why the bottom half of her face was hurting so much and she had brought her fingers to her mouth, realized she was smiling. She had forced a serious expression that she sent back in a nod to the policeman and picked up speed. She couldn¡¯t remember anything of the trip back home. The news on her laptop had informed her that the hostilities had brought the invaders back to the threshold of their artificial lake breech, and that the team of vigilantes of the city was progressing towards shoving them back into the hole in the crust. There was a picture of Hobbes grumpily making a V with his fingers for a photographer, but no images of the other members of his group. She felt no sincere curiosity about the state of the world¡¯s well-being under the menace of the droids. According to Barry, they had always come and gone, attempted to claim territories and been chased away by the Team. She had started to wonder about Barry. She had wondered about a lot of things, mostly, if he was content. If he was happy. She had closed the little laptop on her dining table and at that moment, the silence and the emptiness of her flat had startled her. More like, punched her in the face. She had confirmed the absence of Barry within her walls, attested that he wasn¡¯t hiding in any corners of it. Lightheaded, she sat down and stared blankly at the walls where the little nails that had held her pictures frames were still planted. He had ejected them from their spots back when he had bolted inside the flat. Until she realized that she was wearing her pajamas and she had slid under her thick bed comforter with her opened bottle of water and her sleepy cat. She couldn¡¯t tell if she had brushed her hair or her teeth, she guessed she must have, since she could taste some mint in her mouth, but she couldn¡¯t remember exactly and she couldn¡¯t say what the color of her walls was. She could only remember the nails and the lighter squares and rectangles where the pictures had hung before. ¡°Oh shit¡± she whispered back to Barry in the darkness. He wasn¡¯t here anymore. Now was the moment where she needed to be scolding herself, to shake herself out of that sad bullshit and that feeling of devastation, to start asking things such as what did you think would happen you crazy Venus flytrap bitch but the thought was exhausting enough. She thought it possible that she had entered a new state of sideration, triggered by another violent event in her days. No matter how much she had prepared herself for that day, it felt like Barry had crashed into her life and then been ripped from it, that everything was as rushed and against nature as the very bolt that inhabited him. Eugenie thought about crying, like she had felt earlier, when the tears had bubbled and boiled at her lower lash line, and her ears had grown hot, but she couldn¡¯t find the muscle memory for it. She was petrified. Therefore, she spent all those hours in the black of her bedroom until the day almost became tomorrow, and she reorganized her life. It was too unrealistic to try to process what she felt about the abruptness of change at the moment, it was impossible, so she set out to embrace the change, to surf on its wave like it was a roll of water, a push of freedom. One moment she was seeing the light, before the darkness took her again, but she saw that, somewhere, that was probably what the universe was telling her to do, what Barry had been sent to her for. She had submitted her week absence email to her school without even mentioning a backup plan for her cover. Deep inside she knew she could never go back there. She scanned and scanned her gut for fright, but didn¡¯t find a trace of it.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Two hours after midnight, some quick footsteps in the building¡¯s staircase extracted her from her stupor; such a sound was quite unusual for a Sunday. She lent a distracted ear to it until the footsteps stopped at her door and then, the shuffle of some keys made her jump on her butt. Eugenie pounced out of bed and felt the cold floor under her bare feet. She had left her own keys inside the lock, as she did every day as an extra safety measure, so the person on the other side was unable to disengage the latch. Barry? She almost asked, thinking that he was the only other owner of keys to her home. Don¡¯t think about Barry, it¡¯s not Barry, it cannot be Barry. Oh great, then it¡¯s a serial killer, she sneered inside. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± she demanded with authority in her voice. ¡°Eugenie, Ms White!¡± she heard muffled through the thickness of the wood, ¡°it¡¯s me!¡± Eugenie, she thought. She opened the door and Barry was there. Entirely suited as the Bolt including the head part, which was covering the top of his face. She wondered now how she never matched pictures of the Bolt from the news before with Barry¡¯s traits. Because you didn¡¯t give a shit. The voice was definitely back. Good? Bad? ¡°Barry!¡± she exclaimed, astonished, ¡°you are using your key!¡± He was hunched timidly and struggling to fish out the key from the lock, slumped forward on top of it and an embarrassed smile on his face, ¡°yes I am trying!¡± finally, he pulled the little stick of metal out with ampleness. ¡°Shhh¡± Eugenie placed her finger on her mouth, gestured to him to enter quickly, ¡°it¡¯s super late Barry¡± But she felt her jaw sore again, knew that she was smiling too. Stop smiling. Stop smiling and acting like a teenager. Shut the fuck up, she closed the door behind him, held herself against it as he walked inside the corridor, let me live my life. And who the fuck are you? Who the fuck are YOU? ¡°Are you sleeping?¡± Barry asked, switching the light on. She granted herself half a second to have a look at him. She remembered very well shredding his original suit into some little pieces with her scissors and offering it to the trash when he had arrived at her apartment. Now, he had reconstructed it from scratch over the period of the passed year, patiently, needle after needle, thread after thread, welding the heat plates to the limbs. He had added the gliding underarm parts. It looked even better than the first one, gifted by Hobbes. Eugenie deplored that the crude light of the hallway was on, as she felt her cheeks redden. She was indeed fan-girling a little bit once more. ¡°Yes Barry¡± she mocked him, ¡°I¡¯m sleeping, this is all a dream¡± He rubbed his nose and chuckled, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­ I meant to ask you if you were sleeping¡± ¡°Yeah. No, I mean I was not sleeping¡± ¡°But it¡¯s Sunday¡± ¡°I took the day off tomorrow¡± ¡°Why¡± he asked. The temperature control pads of his suit shone orangey under the light following the subtle rolls of his shoulders. His shoulders were really beautiful, graceful, and he had beautiful elbows, a poised back, he asked you a question, the patterns of the bolt conducing energy wires around him showed off his height, the strength of his arms and legs, answer the question, ¡°you¡¯re okay Ms White?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± she blurted out, snapped out of it, ¡°I just thought I needed a bit of cocooning. Oh my god Barry your suit looks great!¡± He looked down at himself with fake modesty, as he probably agreed, ¡°you like it?¡± ¡°Iiyeah¡± she absent-mindedly dusted off his chest, ¡°a bit dirty now, but¡ª¡± ¡°¡¯Cause of action¡± ¡°It¡¯s truly awesome¡± ¡°You know I glided from the top of the IndyStar building, it was bananas. Hobbes couldn¡¯t believe his eyes¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure. You did so well¡± ¡°Arachnovitch was so jealous, oh, I forgot¡± he giggled, took off his mask, under which his hair was a mess, ¡°now do you recognize me?¡± Eugenie scoffed and nodded at him. ¡°You did well¡± he said. She produced another nod, a thank you version of the previous one. They stood for some seconds locking eyes in the entrance corridor without speaking, taking the time to appreciate the victories that they had crafted as an improbable team. She had saved his life, a year before, and he had rebuilt himself. ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± he asked. She smiled brighter, ¡°I¡¯m thinking we both did well¡± ¡°Yeah¡± he looked down at his feet trying to break their eyelock, ¡°plus, I like to enter through the door. It¡¯s more fun than I thought¡± ¡°Did you come here to tell me how it went with your team?¡± she retrieved her bubbly disengaged self, rubbing her hands avidly such as a teacher would do before a student¡¯s presentation. ¡°Ah yes, well, I was a little stiff, you know, and my stomach still hurts when I brake hard but other than that, it was pretty much like riding a fucking bike¡± ¡°But¡­ your team? What did they say?¡± ¡°Ah yes, well, a lot. Hobbes, Marlene, Robortor, they were losing their shit. Maybe I¡¯ll tell you all the details tomorrow. I¡¯m so tired right now, but tomorrow¡ª¡± She cocked her head, ¡°tomorrow?¡± ¡°I mean today, we are already Monday I guess. But I need some sleep first I think¡± Without further fuss, he started walking backwards into the corridor, into the apartment, ¡°man, today was too much! I didn¡¯t expect that to g¡ª¡± ¡°Some sleep?¡± He stopped and faced her again, danced clumsily on the thick soles of his boots, ¡°hm? Sleep like, you know, what people do when they close their eyes, at night¡± ¡°You came here to sleep?¡± ¡°Sounds like you suddenly went from a full-time sleep lover to a hardcore sleep-hater, wait¡ª¡± Barry opened his mouth, hesitated ¡°well¡­ did you can cancel my Existing-Person-of-the-House membership?¡± He squinted at her ¡°wait! You thought I had moved out, didn¡¯t you!¡± He stared at her, incredulous ¡°Jesus Christ, I¡¯ve been gone like five hours, and you¡¯ve already crossed me out of here!¡± ¡°No no!¡± she lied and showed him her hands in appeasement, ¡°I don¡¯t know what I thought i¡ª¡± There were some days I thought you would stay here forever, with me, she heard herself inside her skull, there were some other seconds when I prayed that you would never leave, ¡°we never talked about it¡± she closed her eyes and reopened them, ¡°I don¡¯t know where my manners are Barry¡± ¡°Can I sleep here tonight?¡± he moved nearer to her and planted his eyes into hers, this time with reserve. So it was clear now. Barry had resumed his former vigilante life and, after that, he had just come home. She recognized him very well indeed. ¡°Yes of course! Do you want a little snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?¡± All of a sudden, the memory of that kissing episode from the park popped inside her brain and the air became scarce in her lungs. Oh no, she thought helplessly, oh shit, her limbs turned to stone, and her head was spinning, she grabbed the door handle to keep herself still. Why hadn¡¯t she pushed him back or made a sound to discourage him to indicate disagreement? Because she didn¡¯t disagree, that was plain to observe, but why hadn¡¯t she at least pretended to oppose this course of action? She had just stood there, not even slipping her hands out of her pockets, and she had closed her eyes. Total consent. She couldn¡¯t breathe and her vision became blurry. After blinking several times to recover her sight, her eyes landed on Barry, observing at her strangely. ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯re alright?¡± he asked again. He was also strangely close, like, close enough for her to be able to count the three buttons of his collar. Say YES! At least save yourself now! Say yes! Get your shit together! Damage control! ¡°No¡± she inhaled deeply, ¡°I never stay up that late, I¡¯m thinking I¡¯m not entirely awake¡± ¡°So you are sleeping¡± he said, ¡°and this is all a dream¡± This was what she had said to him on the day of his arrival when he was sitting in the middle of the rubble that had been her former bookshelves, it is a dream, it is not real, it is a nightmare. Was it? Was it a dream? She could see clearly now, the color of her walls, and they were beige mixed with salmon stripes, and they were dancing, swaying. Some heat clashing with the colder season outside was bursting bubbles through the wallpaper. She was recalling everything; she had indeed brushed her teeth, combed her hair, she had absurdly checked her Facebook before closing her laptop and, before before that, she had walked back from the park to her building, her fingers lingering on her lips, a smile there, mixed with some thin tears, the sob lodged inside her throat and trying to claw its way out with fingers made of fire, the feeling that the world was being erased under her feet and she was losing touch with reality. And before that, she had remained standing in the park between the trees and admired their brown hue, dark brown, light brown, regular brown, and she had watched all the people rush out of the premises, wondered how cool it was that none of them had been aware that the Bolt had been hanging out among them a few minutes earlier. Hanging out and kissing her. And even before that, all the many times she had thought about grabbing his face and eating his mouth, or softly brushing it with hers, a mouth caress, the lightest touch. When he irrupted behind her while she was doing the dishes, when he changed a light bulb, when he fixed her chair, when he assembled her new table, when he took out the trash, when they were ordering some takeout online and browsing some Chinese food on the tablet above the iridescent light of the screen. When they were sitting next to each other on the sofa, when they talked with their faces very close to each other, when he said goodnight to her before bed with a little crooked smile, when he said good morning to her, when he was getting out of the bathroom half naked asking her to locate his socks, when she was silently watching him patch together his Bolt suit from the chair opposite him, faking being absorbed by some newspaper. When they had had their fight, when they were arguing. Those were really tantalizing moments especially. Barry was very attractive when he was angry. ¡°A dream¡± she repeated feebly, ¡°like before, in the park, it was a dream too?¡± Barry smiled but this time, it was his cowboy smile. He had upgraded again. He was so close that she could smell the city on his suit and in his hair, the fumes from the smog, the damp night, the chemicals, some faint scent of grass, ¡°if you want it to be a dream, it can be a dream¡± he leaned forward, his eyes buried deep under his eyebrows, darkness stirred into light, ¡°if you want¡± Get him a glass of water, give him some Oreos, trip and fall, cough, DO something! She felt the back of her head knock against the door frame, ¡°yes¡± she said, don¡¯t close your eyes, RUN and not only did she close her eyes, but she advanced her feet to their pointe and lifted herself up to kiss him. It was all a dream. PART 2: The threshold of the Han (15) A thresh-hole Where presently were the leaves that had blown around them at the moment of the kiss in the park, twirling down and down as if they were endlessly descending from the sky? Probably they had been trampled by passer-bys, wet and folded, crumpled, soiled with mud, mingling with the moss. Eugenie dove into the kiss, thinking about the leaves, how they had formed a chrysalis around them, of various shades of brown, orbiting them in a rolled gush of wind. Her hands rose to touch the edges of Barry¡¯s jaws with the tips of her fingers, then tightened around the base of his neck. Anything that had been forbidden and brandished in front of one¡¯s eye, once the access to this thing allowed, would famously consume that one person. Eugenie burned at the lips of Barry, entirely dismantled, her arms and knees cut off first, then, she didn¡¯t know, she might be floating without them at his height, she might be dissolving slowly in the atmosphere, like the leaves dispersed after a wild tumble and soon forgotten, melting into winter at the end of autumn. She was going to fall and he must have sensed her struggles, because he slid his hands around her chest and lifted her to wrap her legs around him and then banged the both of them forcefully against the entrance door. How will I survive this? She recalled the turtle, from her Attenborough documentary, the one who had left her soft and melted eggshell at the bottom of the hole dug by her mother out of instinct, following the same urge of survival from centuries ago as the one all turtles shared, the one lighting up that down down part of the brain, or warming up that intuition feeling deep inside her belly. She was called to get into the water. Eugenie wondered, How would a creature born on land dream of water and nothing else? How would a thing infused with the gift of life in the middle of sand, hard sand, itchy sand, breathing air on the beach, long for a liquid home? ¡°The neighbors Barry¡± Some things were not easily explained. There was an infinite and invisible world around all the living beings of the Earth. ¡°Fuck your neighbors¡± he connected his midsection to hers and, in that elevated face-to-face, she felt her arms rise on her sides like she was stretching a ribbon, the fingers at the end of her hands stuck against the wood of the door behind her, her nails scratching it. A series of chills quietly detonated up her spine. She was going to be sick. ¡°Lovesick¡± she specified ¡°What¡± Barry detached his mouth from hers for a second, out of breath, his hair disheveled ¡°We¡­ we shouldn¡¯t¡± Eugenie heard herself, hyperventilating too. She brought her hands to his cheeks and ears, and realized that she was sitting, her butt in the curve of Barry¡¯s forearms, her ankles crossed in his back, and that they had already entered pretty far inside the shouldn¡¯t territory. Don¡¯t leave me again, she thought, and she thought about her bridge of shouldnts, looking into his eyes with hers open as wide as casseroles from all the stupefaction and the terror and the ¡°we shouldn¡¯t¡± she repeated. She could still hear the rustling of the leaves in the wind. Crisp, dry leaves tended to make a sharper, crinkling noise, while softer, more humid leaves produced a gentler, more muted sound. GIRL stop thinking about leaves and marine animals, stop thinking¡ª ¡°Eugenie White, you are as light as a bag of feathers¡± Barry said and kissed her once more. She opened her mouth, ¡°what did you say¡± ¡°Eugenie White, you¡± ¡°What did you say¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Eugenie¡± ¡°Barry¡± she sniffled ¡°You¡¯re alright?¡± ¡°Yes. I¡¯m feeling so¡­ crazy¡± She almost spoke her sentence as a question, seeking an absurd validation. She was so terrified that the thought appeared in front of her mind¡¯s eye: maybe she had never been so afraid before. Maybe this was the scariest day of her life, and all the times she had believed she had been afraid in the past, she had never known how afraid afraid could be. The word afraid was losing all its meaning after flashing it and sounding it out a dozen times inside her head, ¡°I¡¯m feeling so crazy¡± she said again ¡°I agree¡± he chuckled, lowering the both of them against the door, depositing her cautiously, delicately. And yet the door¡¯s casing and its old hinges rattled from something refrained, guarded, perhaps some bottled-up things, Eugenie saw, perhaps something in his magnetic field. Stop thinking about magnetic fields, and he bent further down to kiss her chin and neck, while one of his hands reached somewhere on his upper back, ¡°you see that¡¯s where it is, the zipper of this damn outfit¡± She pushed him back to look at him. Barry thew her a mischievous grin, well aware of his monumental charms, while wiggling out of the top part of his suit. He was such a sight, even if the tee shirt he was wearing underneath was messy and wrinkly. His chest was strong, full of pure oxygen, full of cold and refreshing air, of dense and bounteous molecules, his arms were powerful, his shoulders were so perfect under the light layer of the cotton fabric. She smiled back at him apprehensively, wondering if he could perceive her fear. Barry took off his tee shirt but kept it hanging around his neck like a scarf, brushed his nose against hers, pushing his knuckles hard on the floor with the same contained strength. The lines of his muscles were dancing in the harsh light of the corridor, tense and generous at the same time, ¡°you are wearing too many clothes, Eugenie¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­ distracted¡± she confessed ¡°By what¡± ¡°By you¡± ¡°You flatter me¡± he said ¡°You can¡­ you can help me?¡± ¡°Copy that¡± he snatched away Eugenie¡¯s cardigan and the tank top of her pajama after that. Her fear transformed into alarm. Exposed, she felt so self-conscious, her own arms were thick, they sagged with some droopy fat here, some cellulite there, oh man, she had not lifted any weights for a decade or so, and she crossed her elbows on her chest in a panic ¡°Don¡¯t cover yourself, I want to see you¡± he murmured, sitting straight on top of her, ¡°you are very beautiful Ms W¡ª Eugenie¡± At the center of his dirty puddle eyes, she saw something sincere and something hungry. His face was angelic, his unorganized haircut making it look like the wind from the park had followed him all the way to here. Actually, there was always that thing about Barry, the feeling that he was walking around with his own mini tornado blowing rowdily for him and him only. Eugenie felt two warm tears escape discreetly on the sides of her face. She was tired, confused, afraid, horny, joyful, burning with desire, pitiful, distressed, lonely, wanting, yearning. Barry brushed one tear with his thumb and wiped his thumb on his lips, repeated the gesture with the other tear, ¡°you don¡¯t seem to know your own beauty¡± he said. She saw something loving in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m a bit¡­ I mean I¡¯m, you know¡± Old she thought, yogurt-like, out of shape, round, so many horrible adjectives, ¡°and you are so¡­ you know¡± Not any of that. She felt like a flan. ¡°I have a scar the size of a pinky finger in the middle of my stomach¡± he pressed his head against hers, ¡°it¡¯s a bit gross, curved like a comma and it has some weird purple colors¡± ¡°Yikes¡± she scoffed, stop thinking about the wind, mamacita, stop thinking about autumn leaves and turtles, she removed the tee shirt from his neck and made a ball of it and discarded it away. The feeling of his bare skin was disarming, she had not anticipated that it would be so warm, tight, flushed with life, and it calmed the quivering of her hands. She rested them on the back of his shoulders and they sat, clasped like this, vertically parallel, their foreheads glued together, in embrace and suspension at the door of the flat. Eugenie¡¯s heart was beating so hard that she feared it was going to explode out of her ears. It was going to leak out and sizzle on the floor, smoking and whistling from its sectioned arteries, and burn through the planks and break the entire building and cut the world in two. Barry closed his eyes ¡°it¡¯s a nice souvenir¡± ¡°Nice?¡± Stop thinking, you crazy fig and blueberry bitch, stop thinking He smiled, ¡°nice like, you and me against uh¡­ against¡ª¡± he smiled wider, searching for the right way to put it ¡°Against a bullet¡± ¡°Against death¡± he nodded, ¡°against the world I guess¡± ¡°Are we really going to do this?¡± ¡°Do what¡± Make love, the voice told ¡°Make love¡± she whispered ¡°Make love?¡± Barry¡¯s smile expanded, the expression on his face mesmerized, ¡°hell yeah we¡¯re gonna make love, Eugenie¡± PART 2: The threshold of the Han (16) The Han Later on they lied together on the floor of the entrance corridor but the temperature was dropping fast, ¡°I¡¯m freezing¡± Barry said, and then picked Eugenie up with extravagant ease to drop her on her bed. They disappeared under the thick blankets and rolled into a ball of arms and legs. Eugenie welcomed the sheltering feeling of the darkness of the room, ¡°I can¡¯t believe that you never used the front door before¡± she whispered ¡°I have to say I used it quite epically today¡± they both burst into laughter like two children after a booger joke. Terence jumped on the far corner of the bed and started licking one of his paws. ¡°Your cat has watched you sleep with a lot of guys?¡± Barry asked, lifting her hand in front of his eyes to admire her fingers in the bit of light that diffused from the hallway. She laughed lightly, ¡°what do you mean a lot of guys?¡± ¡°I mean¡­ guys¡± ¡°No one that he liked very much¡± ¡°I think he likes me very much. But also, you like me very much¡± he said, ¡°you¡¯ve wanted me for a long long time¡± Eugenie elbowed him in the ribs under the covers and he recoiled, ¡°aiille, fuck, I¡¯m joking I¡¯m joking dammit!¡± he dropped her hand and raised his in rendition, ¡°I know you have a heart of stone, no feelings. No feelings for me¡± She pulled him back against her, ¡°and you have feelings for me?¡± ¡°Tons of feelings¡± he said simply, ¡°you¡¯re driving me completely nuts¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it a bit weird, Barry?¡± ¡°What¡¯s weird¡± he recaptured her hand and intertwined his fingers into hers ¡°That you are into older women¡± He sighed, saddened at how unintelligent she was, ¡°I¡¯m not into older women, I¡¯m into you¡± he didn¡¯t let her retort anything, went on, ¡°and you¡¯re into me?¡± ¡°It just occurred to me, yes¡± The heat of his skin was radiating through her, an untamed pulse emanating from him even in this position of rest, and she felt some tears sting their way up to her sinuses again. Was this life force she could feel coming from the Bolt, or Barry? They were lying on the bed where he had ended up on that fateful Friday night after appearing at her window, bleeding and limping. On this bed, she had done her best to fix him, heal his wounds, sow him back together, keep him alive and hydrated and pumping, against some alarming odds. He had endured so much here, surrendered his fate to her, he had curled into a burning dot of pain here, waited for those endless seconds of torment to be over, turned into minutes, hours, days. He had been ill, thrown up sometimes inside the puke bucket, if she was fast enough, sometimes all over himself; he had urinated in the sheets, begged her for her forgiveness, ¡®I don¡¯t mind at all those things Barry, I¡¯m a nurse¡¯ ¡®You¡¯re a teacher¡¯ he had shed tears of deep shame on those awful occasions ¡®Oh, so now I¡¯m a teacher¡¯ she had teased him, wishing to lift his spirits, ¡®it¡¯s whatever you want whenever you want, apparently¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m so sorry¡¯ he had cried openly, overwhelmed by perdition and hopelessness ¡®What¡¯s there to be sorry about. You¡¯ll be super clean again in five minutes, I¡¯ll take care of it¡¯ ¡®Really?¡¯ ¡®I needed to do some laundry anyway, you see? You read my mind¡¯ ¡®How are you not disturbed?¡¯Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡®That¡¯s the part that I was good at, when I was an intern, you know, sitting people and tending to them¡¯ ¡®And what¡¯s the part that you were bad at?¡¯ She had chuckled, ¡®actual medicine¡¯ They had finally laughed out loud Eugenie blinked back into the present moment. We have been through so much, she thought, he has made me feel strong, worthy. ¡°It just occurred to you that you are into me?¡± Barry faced her and kissed her on the nose, a million miles away from her reminiscence. He smelled like car pollution, like skin, like the rubber of his suit, like a warm croissant. ¡°Yes maybe¡± she lied. She felt his smile, even if she couldn¡¯t see it. She was smiling too, ¡°Just now¡± she lied more, ¡°just when you uh¡­ opened the door and appeared in your new superhero ensemble¡± Lies lies lies ¡°I think you are full of shit but whatever, tell me¡± ¡°Tell you what¡± ¡°What do you like about me¡± Barry asked, holding her tighter. Under the palm of her hand, she could feel one of the scars on his left arm, just below his shoulder, a bump of rougher skin. ¡°You are¡­ a fascinating person¡± ¡°I am a fascinating person¡± he repeated doubtfully ¡°You have uh¡­ great energy¡± He clicked his tongue, ¡°that¡¯s literally like, my job¡± ¡°You are very¡­ resilient, inspiring¡± He fabricated a yawn, pretending he was bored to death, ¡°resilient and inspiring, wow¡± ¡°Charming¡± ¡°ENOUGHuh¡± he seized her by the arms and rolled her on top of him, ¡°tell mee¡± ¡°OKAY¡± Eugenie laughed generously, buried her face in his chest and covered the back of her skull with her hands, ¡°you¡¯re very handsome¡± ¡°Look at me¡± She did and she couldn¡¯t stop grinning, ¡°you are a very handsome guy¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You are very hot¡± ¡°Finally, the truth¡± ¡°What can I say¡± she rested her chin on his sternum, looking up at him. ¡°And you are a gorgeous woman. I¡¯ve been liking you for a long time¡± ¡°REALLY oh my god like how long¡± Now that was becoming interesting. She thought, how long, have you lived under my roof and thinking about sleeping together like this, you little motherfucker? ¡°I didn¡¯t like, wake up one morning with a crush on you and mark my calendar about it¡± he said, ¡°for a while, just a while but here¡± he led her hand to the right side of his chest, ¡°can you feel my heart beat so strong for you?¡± ¡°Barry the heart is on the other side¡± ¡°I have a confession to make¡± She sighed, ¡°I cannot be worse than all the nonsense I have already heard¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t meet my Team mates tonight. I was too chicken¡± Eugenie sat on the bed, looked down at him, ¡°you didn¡¯t make contact¡± Barry nodded, pulled on her shoulder to force her to lie back in front of him. He tucked the right sides of her hair behind her ear, ¡°I acted from afar, they saw me, but I didn¡¯t give them the chance to approach me¡± ¡°How did you manage that?¡± ¡°Remember, I¡¯m very fast¡± his smile was so irresistible. ¡°But¡­ Uberwoman?¡± ¡°Even Uberwoman cannot catch up with me if I put a lot of heart in the race. Listen, I¡¯m worried about my Team, I¡¯m worried about the droids who tried to isolate me and kill me. I need to investigate and see if those robots are after the bolting power, or something more sinister, especially after the gear they brought tonight¡± Eugenie felt her body was softy shaking, jolted by a soft shake every thirty seconds or so, although she wasn¡¯t cold, ¡°was it like in Dune, some Harkonnen stuff?¡± ¡°It was exactly like in Dune¡± They burst out laughing at their goofiness and it took them a while to calm down. Terence decided the covers were too wriggly to his taste and changed spot to his bean bag. ¡°What are you saying, Barry?¡± Something flashed and zoomed in her mind¡¯s eye field of perception, so quickly that she almost missed it, and so faint that she almost moved on and relegated to the past. She understood why the thought had been so feral and so timid when she grabbed it by the next. It was the concern that she didn¡¯t want to live in a world where she couldn¡¯t see Barry¡¯s face and Barry¡¯s smile, or hear his laughter, or stick against his warm skin. You¡¯re disgusting, she heard from her inside voice. ¡°I¡¯m going to go see for myself, alone¡± ¡°Barryy¡± her heart had started at a reasonable trot, now it was fully galloping, ¡°why not with the others?¡± He shook his head, ¡°I don¡¯t know, I have this bad feeling about involving the rest of the Team¡± ¡°And I have this bad feeling from the last time you were alone with those things¡± Was she raising her voice? She mustn¡¯t. Eugenie closed her eyes. She knew better than to antagonize Barry Masquevert, which was as useless as adding a small fire to a bigger blaze in order to extinguish it. ¡°Noo¡± he chuckled as if it was the most absurd thought in the whole world, ¡°I¡¯ll be super-careful. Those motherfuckers will never catch me off guard again. Plus, I have my phone. I¡¯ll call you every day to reassure you¡± ¡°I hate speaking on the phone¡± ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll send you a Snapchat¡± ¡°Every day¡­ how many days will your mission last?¡± ¡°Maybe a week¡± he said. Eugenie¡¯s hand followed the contour of Barry¡¯s left shoulder, descended towards his elbow. She had never felt such a pull of desire in her existence, such a draw to someone¡¯s body. Or soul. You make me sick, the voice spoke again, appalled. ¡°A week?¡± ¡°I have a plan. Maybe you can pack me some lunches?¡± ¡°Some lun¡ª Barry! Hear me now¡­¡± Her hand tightened on his arm. This was an alternative to speaking more strictly, which didn¡¯t have an effect on him: she would grab him closer and hope he felt the emotion coming out of her. ¡°Yes¡± ¡°If you die¡­ I will kill you¡± PART 3: That bitch moon (1) 2021 Marlene couldn¡¯t say that she was on board with Hobbes¡¯ planned approach to the Eugenie White situation but she admitted that she and the rest of the group were at such a loss of ways to crack that mystery that she let him have it. They entered the Fountain Square neighborhood under the woos and aahs of all the unsavory people who roamed the streets at this advanced hour of the afternoon, early evening. She waved at them politely, answered a couple exclamations with a thumb up, while Hobbes darted towards the old building where Eugenie White lived without granting them a look. ¡°You¡¯re going to buzz her?¡± she asked. ¡°Uugh, I guess¡± Hobbes was already exasperated, so it was good that he was not going on this mission solo. Marlene listened as the communication opened with the first floor above them. They could have easily leaped to the balcony and crashed her window, or just smashed the building door open unannounced, but they were trying something more discreet. She was pretty sure she heard Eugenie White choke on her breath when she heard who was at the door. She was waiting for them at the entrance. Marlene had seen her social media pictures, the typical ones for a woman her age, group photos holding slices of pizza, posing next to a dog, showing a finger peace sign in front of a monument, holding someone else¡¯s baby awkwardly. She had a very kind face and some soothing features, a rather disastrous sense of fashion and, when she opened her mouth to say hello, Marlene heard a deep and accented voice. At the bottom of her sweat pants, she was wearing some slippers with some Halloween pumpkin patterns on them. Hobbes passed her without acknowledging her and paced efficiently directly into her flat, but it didn¡¯t seem to trigger any reactions in Eugenie White. Instead, Marlene saw her eyes immediately fall on her and expand half their size, ¡°Uber¡­ woman, madame¡± Eugenie whispered stepped back, ¡°please come in¡±. Marlene nodded at her. Eugenie White was genuinely awestruck. Usually, she hurriedly put an end to such unbalanced face to faces with her customary warmth and humility, shook a couple of hands and rubbed a couple of shoulders, but now, she had to give space to Hobbes. She showed Eugenie the way into her own home with a quick lift of her chin, ¡°Ms White, I suggest you do what the man says¡± ¡°Uberwoman¡± Eugenie White didn¡¯t seem able to listen yet, still astonished, a vague smile curling up at the corners of her mouth. They convened in the living room. It was a charming place, with the central space being the dining and living, two tall French door windows opening on the balcony, a lot of plants and a cat that was taking a nap on an armchair near one of the windows. ¡°Eugenie White¡± Hobbes said, ¡°sit down¡± Was this place where Barry had been kept a prisoner all those months? ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°Is this your apartment?¡± he asked. ¡°Yes¡± ¡°Your cat?¡± he pointed at the animal rolled into a peaceful loaf. ¡°Yes it is, I¡¯m sorry what¡ª¡± ¡°Please, we are just establishing that we are at the right place and addressing the right person¡± Hobbes continued, camped on his legs like if he was ready to mount a horse. Uberwoman brushed the fireplace with her gloved finger, saw that it was quite clean. ¡°This your parents?¡± Hobbes straightened a finger at a picture frame on a drawer. ¡°My aunt and uncle¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have parents?¡± ¡°Actually no, I don¡¯t have parents, they died when I was a baby, in a car accident. My aunt and uncle raised me¡± ¡°You get along with your aunt and uncle?¡± ¡°What? Yes!¡± Eugenie said, her voice high pitched ¡°of course, they¡¯re great people!¡± ¡°Now sit down¡± ¡°In my own home? I mean don¡¯t you want me to bring you a glass of water or some coff¡ª¡± ¡°Be quiet and sit down, please¡± People were always obeying Hobbes¡¯ orders, it was a natural skill he possessed, and why he was the boss of the Team. A holy advantage that they all enjoyed before they had to resort to aggression to solve issues. Eugenie White unrolled the sleeves of the sweater she had rolled up, her hands still humid. She was probably doing the dishes, as a faint scent of lemon floated in the air from the kitchen, before they arrived. She hid her hands inside her sleeves, ¡°hands where I can see them, Ms White¡± Hobbes said sharply. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re lucky we didn¡¯t shoot you in the butt with some sleep medicine darts, Eugenie White, and didn¡¯t take you to our station instead of just coming over¡± ¡°Excuse mee?¡± Eugenie was now horrified and she threw an alarmed look at Marlene. Marlene nodded. She was not used to acting like she was walking around with a broomstick up her own butt, but she was so avid for information about Barry¡¯s fate that she went along.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Hobbes got closer to the table and to Eugenie and placed his hands on his waist, ¡°may I ask you, Eugenie White, to confirm the following information: you are 40 years old¡± ¡°39¡± Eugenie whispered. ¡°You are single, divorced, actually¡± ¡°Yes¡± ¡°You have been living here in this sh¡ª place for about a decade¡± ¡°That¡¯s right¡± ¡°You are a high school teacher¡± ¡°Yes¡± ¡°Now can you please tell my colleague and I how you managed to kidnap the Bolt?¡± Eugenie¡¯s mouth opened as wide as her eyes were already bulging. Some people were good actors, Marlene thought. ¡°Wh¡ª¡± Silence, she swallowed and squinted, ¡°you mean Barry, the Bolt?¡± ¡°Barry the Bolt? Yes I mean Barry the Bolt¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡± Hobbes pinched the bridge of his nose, ¡°you¡¯re going to have to understand faster, Eugenie White. We have identified that the Bolt spent seventeen months in this very apartment before he recently just¡­ wasn¡¯t anymore¡± he spread his arms in a motion of vanishing. ¡°What did you do to him?¡± ¡°He left to find you¡± ¡°He left? You mean he escaped?¡± Eugenie chuckled, this time, frowned, ¡°I didn¡¯t kidnap him. You, on the other hand, disappeared and¡ª¡± ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡± Disappeared. Marlene tilted her head, glanced at Hobbes. She was becoming very intrigued. At first sight, she couldn¡¯t believe that this high school teacher with her tired hair and her Halloween slippers was a kidnapper, or any kind of criminal, but she had seen some shit, so she could grant to Hobbes that suspicion was key. However, she was providing some interesting answers so far. ¡°Yes, seventeen months ago, when Barry needed you, you disappeared!¡± ¡°We went on the moon mission, don¡¯t you read the news?¡± ¡°It was not on the news¡± Marlene interjected politely, nodded encouragingly to Hobbes. ¡°Anyway we thought Barry was dead. We moved on. But then we are currently finding out he was held here¡± ¡°Held?¡± Eugenie stood up, brought to some real-looking frustration, but Hobbes gestured for her to remain seated. ¡°What is your response, then?¡± Eugenie shook her head, ¡°I don¡¯t trust you. You are completely out of your mind¡± Hobbes¡¯ eyebrows touched his hairline, ¡°you will respond, respectfully!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know you, or rather, I know you, I¡¯ve heard of you, Mr Hobbes, and you sound absolutely unhinged, just like I imagined. Your own conduct is as fishy as the one you are accusing me of right now and I don¡¯t owe you an explanation¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Marlene asked. Eugenie turned to her, seemed to repress another one of her gasps, realizing Uberwoman was still sitting at her table. Her eyes softened, ¡°madame¡± she spoke gently, ¡°I¡¯m trying to protect Barry, I don¡¯t know what happened and why you guys left him behind, so I¡¯m just being careful¡± ¡°But if your explanations could help Barry?¡± ¡°Of course, but¡ª¡± Eugenie hesitated and pointed to Hobbes, ¡°is he always like this?¡± ¡°Yes¡± Marlene sighed. Hobbes shrugged, ¡°you¡¯re not making sense at all. Why kidnap Barry?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t kidnap Barry. He came here¡± ¡°Here?¡± Hobbes threw a hand designating the living room, ¡°in this flat, he came on his own volition?¡± Eugenie nodded but didn¡¯t say a word. ¡°Is your cat alright, Ms White?¡± Marlene asked, ¡°he¡¯s not reacting to our¡­ presence¡± ¡°He¡¯s deaf, Uberwoman¡± Eugenie looked back at her with adoring eyes. Marlene allowed herself a small smile, as she loved elderly pets a lot, ¡°cute¡± she commented. ¡°Marlene¡± Hobbes scolded her. ¡°Eugenie White, I would like to comprehend how Barry, the Bolt, a superhero from our Team of vigilantes extraordinaire watching over this shitty town, happened to show up at your apartment¡± Eugenie took a deep breath and looked like she was debating inside her head, then she looked down at her slippers, ¡°he needed to hide, here. And he couldn¡¯t find you, we looked everywhere for you, for months!¡± ¡°We?¡± ¡°Barry and I¡± Eugenie said with defiance. ¡°Barry lived here for seventeen months?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I just said¡± ¡°How many bedrooms does your apartment have?¡± ¡°One bedroom but¡ª¡± ¡°Then where did Barry, the Bolt, sleep during all those months?¡± Hobbes barked the question. Marlene found it bizarre. She could easily tell that the big sofa behind them was a convertible, and that Eugenie¡¯s flat could comfortably accommodate at least two people independently but Hobbes, as a born billionaire, probably wasn¡¯t very aware of such things. ¡°On the couch there. It turns into a pretty large bed once you open it¡± ¡°Ah okay¡± Hobbes scratched his head and Marlene hid a small chuckle behind her hand. ¡°You seem to have an answer for everything¡± he reproached to her. ¡°Because that¡¯s what happened¡± ¡°Barry needed help from what?¡± Marlene asked. As she was seeing it, it was possible that they had been wrong in their interpretation of the data about Barry¡¯s recent whereabouts, but she was still confused. Why here specifically? Why had Barry ended up here asking help to this unknown woman? ¡°From the mraimoumsomething, I think¡± Hobbes jumped on his feet then leaned forward and brought his face, menacingly, to brush against Eugenie¡¯s. She recoiled but attempted to not show any fear, ¡°you¡¯re working for the mrai moumous?¡± Marlene eyed her, her forced backbone. She seemed used to confrontations and holding her ground, for some reason. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t even know what the mraim¡ª those things are!¡± Eugenie raised her hands in the air helplessly, ¡°some robots from another planet, if I understand correctly, the ones that flew in their big-ass flying saucer into our sky recentl¡ª¡± ¡°You are the new mrai moumous leader?¡± Hobbes spat at her. ¡°Hobbes¡± Marlene called him out, ¡°give her some space, please¡± Her eyes were trying to tell him, I don¡¯t think that this girl is the new boss of the mrai moumous, but he didn¡¯t intercept the message. ¡°So if I search this place, I will not find a Bernie device, will I?¡± ¡°A Bernie device?¡± Eugenie¡¯s mouth formed the words as if they were a slice of the pie that¡¯s still a bit too hot from the oven. ¡°She obviously has no idea what a Bernie is, Hobbes¡± ¡°Marlene, you told me to lead, I¡¯m leading!¡± ¡°Alright, alright¡± She was more and more bothered by the thought that they were having a conversation in two separate languages. One person was asking, ¡®what time is it?¡¯ and the other replied, ¡®no¡¯. She rolled her eyes and smiled warmly at Eugenie this time, spin her index finger to communicate to her that patience was currently required. Eugenie¡¯s face beamed with love. ¡°I have nothing to do with your robots and your device¡± ¡°They are not my robots and my device¡± ¡°Did you see any mrai moumous here, Ms White? On the boulevard?¡± ¡°No, not here, Uberwoman¡± Eugenie replied. ¡°So why did Barry come here?¡± ¡°Because he trusted me¡± ¡°You??¡± It was Hobbes¡¯ turn to recoil from the surprise. ¡°Yes me!¡± Eugenie insisted. ¡°Obviously I am more trust-worthy than you are! I didn¡¯t just disappear when Barry needed help the most!¡± ¡°Hey¡± Marlene decided to bypass Hobbes, as they were wasting precious time now, arguing like toddlers, ¡°I¡¯m sorry Hobbes, you know that I am on your side, my friend, but we are getting¡± she switched gear and smiled brightly at Eugenie, ¡°positively nowhere at the moment¡± PART 3: That bitch moon (2) ¡°Can I pet your cat?¡± Marlene asked and saw Hobbes shake his head on top of his smoking cup of tea. The mug had some Christmas trees and snowmen on it. That woman, Eugenie White, seemed to like the holidays. ¡°Of course!¡± Eugenie replied, closer to a shriek, ¡°can I take a picture, madame?¡± ¡°Here, Hobbes, hold the phone. Eugenie, join me on the picture¡± ¡°Can we move on please, ladies?¡± Hobbes grunted after a dozen clicks. They all sat down. ¡°Let¡¯s start from the beginning, Eugenie White. You are telling us that you are not involved with any criminals, mobsters, mrai moumous, etc¡± ¡°Yes I¡¯m telling you that¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t kidnap the Bolt¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t kidnap Barry. How would I be able to kidnap and restrain a mutant?¡± ¡°Fair point¡± Hobbes glanced at her small frame, her hunched shoulders, ¡°so he showed up here to hide from the mrai moumous¡± Eugenie nodded, Marlene asked: ¡°you say that Barry trusted you, how is that possible? Did Barry know you from before?¡± ¡°Of course!¡± she exclaimed, her hands joined in a gesture of prayer, ¡°Barry used to be my student!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry what?¡± ¡°What kind of research do you people claim to do¡± Eugenie¡¯s eyes fell back on Marlene and she changed her tone, ¡°I mean, no big deal, you can¡¯t look everywhere I guess, I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± she cleared her throat, ¡°but yes, I was Barry¡¯s Geography teacher for three years, that¡¯s all¡± ¡°You teach Geography, nice¡± Marlene commented. Hobbes glowered like he was surprised it was even a school subject. ¡°And from being your student, Barry trusted you? I find this a strange shortcut¡± ¡°ME TOO¡± Eugenie became agitated on her seat, wriggled her butt and brought her face closer like if she was about to expose a conspiracy, ¡°that¡¯s exactly what I thought, Mr Hobbes. But Barry came here with some sort of... opinions, I would say¡­ reassurances about me, like he had looked me up and knew that¡ª¡± she looked puzzled, ¡°that he could trust me¡± ¡°Well, Barry¡¯s always been a weirdo¡± Hobbes said. ¡°Yeah, right?¡± Eugenie and Hobbes were starting to get along, ¡°my thoughts precisely. But in that case I didn¡¯t ever find out how he was so sure that I would help him¡± ¡°What kind of relationship did you have with him when he was your student? Was he a good student?¡± Eugenie snorted, but composed herself, ¡°madame, sir, uh NO¡± ¡°That¡¯s funny¡± Marlene said, ¡°Barry discovered his superpowers right when he was in high school. Maybe that didn¡¯t help his behavior?¡± ¡°It¡¯s too much for a young boy, alone¡± ¡°SO¡± Hobbes took a sip of his tea, looked pleasantly surprised, ¡°you said he spent three years as your student, why not the mandatory upper school four years?¡± ¡°He moved on to finish his school experience studying computer science as a senior¡± ¡°You kicked him out?¡± ¡°It was a reorientation¡± Eugenie looked amused to revisit those memories. ¡°And then now like, what? Five or six years later, Barry decides he trusts you to hide him at your house¡± Eugenie White narrowed her eyes for a second and then blurted, ¡°oh my god, I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m forgetting to tell you this, Uberwoman, Mr Hobbes, Barry came here because he had been shot¡± ¡°SHOT?¡± Hobbes stiffened on his chair and Marlene¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°By a gun¡± Eugenie added, which sent some chills down Marlene¡¯s spine. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Eugenie looked at Hobbes blankly for a couple more seconds, ¡°am I sure?¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°How am I sure?¡± ¡°No, how did he get shot?¡± Marlene and Hobbes exchanged some baffled looks. ¡°He had been fired at by those things, the mra¡ª whatever they are, on top of the Circle Stadium Tower¡± ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± Hobbes groaned, ¡°that¡¯s where we searched initially!¡± ¡°You searched for him?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Marlene grabbed Eugenie¡¯s hand and squeezed it warmly, ¡°we didn¡¯t abandon him, we looked for him for a whole week, but we¡ª¡± she felt a lump inside her throat, ¡° we thought he had died. Some of us hoped that the fact we didn¡¯t locate a body meant that he was still alive, but I was not among those people¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry you went through this, madame¡± Eugenie squeezed her hand back. Hobbes eyed their hands joined together and seemed to think about adding his to the pile but decided against it, ¡°it is quite a stroll from Circle Stadium to here, Eugenie White¡± She shrugged, ¡°Barry told me that he bolted and then took a bus¡± ¡°A bus?¡± ¡°Mr Hobbes, I thought I was no longer a suspect here¡± Hobbes shook his head, ¡°it¡¯s not that, Eugenie White, it¡¯s just that, as usual, when it comes to Masquevert¡¯s actions, I have a difficult time following. The boy is chaotic¡± ¡°Poor Barry¡± Marlene sighed, ¡°Eugenie, I do follow, but not the part where he appeared at your door, yours, his former Geography teacher, being hurt¡± ¡°You mean¡­ my balcony¡± ¡°Yes¡± Marlene sighed, ¡°that sounds more like Barry¡± ¡°Barry knew that I had studied medicine for a very brief period of time, a million years ago, I mean¡± she looked very embarrassed now, ¡°nursing¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯re also a nurse?¡± ¡°No-o¡± she snorted, ¡°my internship was terminated back then, I¡­ wasn¡¯t good at it¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have the consistency, I guess. Teaching is more my thing¡± ¡°So you willingly spend all your days in the company of teenagers?¡± Hobbes joked, but Marlene knew he was genuinely mystified. Eugenie had a little laugh, ¡°I like teenagers, actually I¡­ tried primary, I didn¡¯t enjoy it. I don¡¯t know how to communicate with children¡± ¡°And you know how to communicate with teenagers?¡± Hobbes really wanted to know. ¡°I think so but, then again, perhaps Barry would say otherwise¡± Marlene scoffed, ¡°you have all my admiration¡± Really? She read the shock on Eugenie¡¯s face. ¡°Eugenie White, let me guess¡± Hobbes said with amusement in his tone, ¡°you are a Uberwoman fan¡± ¡°Yes¡± her face and ears reddened, she looked down, ¡°since I was a child¡± ¡°I am honored, truly¡± Marlene commented, then she wished to move on and not linger on yet another one of the million fan-girling and fan-boying phenomena she encountered every day, ¡°so Barry got shot, Jesus, and transported himself to here, asking you¡ª Asking you to provide some medical assistance?¡± Eugenie nodded, still horrified, ¡°And you rushed to action, good for you¡± Hobbes raised his Christmas mug in a cheer. ¡°Not at first¡± she said, ¡°you imagine my reaction I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not a nurse¡± ¡°How badly was he wounded?¡± Marlene asked. It was a hard question for her to ask. Now, she had to imagine Barry alive, yes, but stranded alone and feeling completely isolated, dealing with a spicy and deadly situation. ¡°That was not pretty, Uberwoman¡± Eugenie grimaced. ¡°He was shot in the arm and in the stomach, it was horrible, there was blood everywhere. I tried to call an ambulance but he bolted and stole my phone¡± ¡°He bolted inside this apartment?¡± Hobbes was stunned. ¡°Yes he destroyed everything¡± Hobbes and Marlene looked around at the living room, ¡°he destroyed the bookshelves behind you¡± they eyed the books, ¡°I got some new ones after that, and he destroyed the table on which you are sitting right now¡± they both glanced down at the table, ¡°I got a new one too¡± Marlene asked again, ¡°he was shot in the stomach, you are saying?¡± ¡°Yes uh¡± Eugenie thought about hit, shuddered, ¡°I refused the assignment, obviously, I lost my shit. But he convinced me and¡­ I was scared that he would die if I didn¡¯t help him. To make a long story short¡± ¡°All this¡­ bolting around in a tight space, all this commotion, it didn¡¯t alert people on the street or in the building?¡± Hobbes questioned. ¡°It was storming that day, very loudly, I supposed it worked out for Barry¡± ¡°Aah, that was the day of the storm!¡± Hobbes facepalmed himself, ¡°I remember Robortor got stuck in a sewer that day and he spent thirty minutes under water¡± ¡°Wow¡± Eugenie blew some air on top of her tea mug, ¡°Robortor. Isn¡¯t he Barry¡¯s best friend?¡± ¡°Yes, yes he is¡± Marlene smiled sweetly, ¡°I guess you have heard a lot of stories about us, from Barry, haven¡¯t you?¡± Eugenie darted an unsure look at Hobbes, ¡°yes, a little¡± Marlene chuckled, ¡°you did well if you successfully saved Barry¡¯s life when he¡¯d been shot in the stomach. It¡¯s pretty alarming¡± ¡°Masquevert¡± Hobbes massaged his forehead. ¡°No¡± Eugenie said, ¡°Barry was fortunate, and so was I. He wasn¡¯t hurt like, deeply, probably thanks to his suit, otherwise, he would be dead¡± she shivered again. ¡°What did you guys do with his suit?¡± ¡°We uh¡­ had to get rid of it¡± Marlene saw Hobbes deflate a bit, ¡°I know, I know Mr Hobbes, that this suit was a present for you, but I had to cut through it to help Barry¡± ¡°Cut thr¡ª¡± Hobbes gasped, Marlene hid her smile. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry¡± ¡°I understand¡± Hobbes said with utmost seriousness, ¡°the urgency of the matter. I¡¯m impressed that you delivered, to be frank with you. You must have kept some skills that were not too rusty!¡± Eugenie took the compliment, looking down at her mug awkwardly, ¡°I am still surprised it turned out the way it did, to be honest. I mean the way you see me, right now, having this conversation very calmly, that¡¯s NOT the way I acted back then. I¡¯ve never been so scared in my life¡± ¡°Right. What a crazy story, to tell your friends! Wait¡± ¡°Yeah, are you sure?¡± Eugenie teased Hobbes, ¡°I¡¯ve been living a double life, all these months¡± ¡°How in the world did Barry know you used to be a nurse? Do you share this information with your students? It¡¯s not anywhere on your social media, or professional account¡± She was right about their research, Marlene thought. They had not bothered to look deep, only checked a couple of sites and platforms before Hobbes and she decided to just show up and find out the truth for themselves in a direct face-to-face. Eugenie shook her head, ¡°I¡¯ve never told my students about this, simply because I barely even think about this period of my life. Barry said that he knew¡ª¡± she tried to remember, ¡°and that the reason that he knew was confidential¡± she scanned Hobbes and Marlene, ¡°I figured it had something to do with you guys¡± ¡°Barry Barry Barry¡± Marlene exhaled cheekily, ¡°I think Barry here, conducted his own investigation¡± ¡°Teenagers can be like that sometimes, when they are bored, they do strange things, I don¡¯t know¡± ¡°Yes, Barry looks like a typical extrovert, but he actually keeps a lot of secrets and enigmas about himself¡± Marlene remarked. ¡°He does?¡± Hobbes was discovering this. He simply wasn¡¯t a people person. Marlene zoned out of the discussion for a brief moment. She thought about Ivan briefly, saying, ¡®my to,tingly sense is tingling¡¯. Her tingly sense was definitely tingling. The mere fact that no one from the Team had ever heard about the existence of Eugenie White meant that she was important for Barry. How? She asked herself. A motherly figure? It was possible. ¡°You had not helped Barry before, when he was your student, had you?¡± ¡°No, madame¡± Eugenie said, ¡°I couldn¡¯t help him. All I wanted was for him to learn Geography, but he had other activities, at school¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Anything that was not Geography, pretty much¡± They all laughed heartily. ¡°Are you¡­ worried about Barry right now?¡± Eugenie asked. Marlene caught a pretty worried glance from Hobbes, ¡°Mm, maybe. That boy is all over the place¡± They thought about it in silence for a while, then Hobbes cleared his throat, ¡°so Barry¡¯s health is now restored?¡± ¡°Yes, he is able to heal very fast¡± Eugenie said. Marlene and Hobbes nodded, ¡°but I mean he didn¡¯t have much else to do than recover while he was here. It was difficult at first, because as it appeared to me very clearly since the beginning, this place is not a clinic, but he got better eventually. Like much much better¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t go crazy, being cooped up like this?¡± ¡°Barry actually likes to hang out¡± Marlene informed Hobbes, ¡°he¡¯s a real home bunny. Paradoxically, he is an adrenaline junkie, but when things are chill, he¡ª what did he do all these months?¡± Eugenie shrugged, ¡°I mean he¡­ read some books, played some video games. He assembled my new table, my new bookshelves. We watched some Netflix. He crafted his new suit. We played some Scrabble. He learned to draw sacred geometry, with a compass and a protractor¡± ¡°How about your social life?¡± ¡°Hmmm Eugenie frowned, ¡°you know, it feels so good to finally be able to talk to someone about this madness¡± she chugged the bottom of her tea like it was a frat party shot of Tequila, ¡°I don¡¯t really have a social life. Maybe that¡¯s also why Barry decided to come here. When you think about it, it looks like an ideal situation¡± She seemed to be musing on it in a new light herself. Marlene granted her some seconds of pensiveness, ¡°you said that this place isn¡¯t a hospital, Eugenie. How did you manage to help Barry?¡± ¡°Yeah, we want the details¡± Hobbes rubbed his hands together then stopped after sensing Marlene¡¯s reproachful gaze on him. ¡°That¡± Eugenie hesitated, started at her mug like she had never seen it before, ¡°that¡¯s a bit illegal, this part, I don¡¯t know¡± ¡°Your secret is safe with us, you have my word¡± said Hobbes, which was a complete lie, since he didn¡¯t know what she was about to say and couldn¡¯t promise such things. ¡°I¡­ went to my school and stole supplies from the nurse¡¯s office. I even accessed information about Barry like¡­ his old file, his blood type¡± ¡°You¡ª¡± Marlene was sincerely amazed, didn¡¯t attempt to mask her smile, ¡°you transfused him?¡± ¡°Mmmyes¡± Eugenie replied timidly, then sighed, ¡°I can¡¯t believe all that shit worked¡± ¡°Here in this apartment?¡± ¡°On this table¡± beads of sweat were appearing on Eugenie¡¯s temples, testifying of the stress to relive those memories, ¡°at some point the table collapsed, so we finished on the floor¡± She shook her head, incredulous. ¡°That¡¯s bananas¡± Hobbes commented, elbows on the table Eugenie was mentioning, very into the tale now. Only Marlene was seeing how demanding the narration was of its narrator. She had the expression on her face that people wear after they escape a near brush with death, and they are unable to believe that they are through. PTSD, without a doubt. Marlene scratched Eugenie¡¯s hand on the handle of her cup, like the hand was a little hamster, ¡°I¡¯m sorry that we are asking you about those stressful episodes in your life, Eugenie, thank you for being honest with us¡± ¡°You know, actually, it is such a relief to be able to discuss this. I never thought that I would be sitting in front of you, I never thought that Barry would find you guys again and be able to reunite with you!¡± ¡°Is Barry in any shape to fight?¡± ¡°Fight?¡± Eugenie shivered on her seat. ¡°Like, resume his career of superhero?¡± specified Hobbes. ¡°Hell yeah¡± she said in a whisper. PART 3: That bitch moon (3) 2023 Grand Central Station, the buildings have grown around it since then, it was just a moment of sunlight that never came back after that. Later on, he would be obsessed by the image and the sound of a phone ringing. It was one of those cartoon phones, red and glowing under a crude light, but the puzzling part about it was that it shook on its spot first before the ringing sound would be heard. He remembered Eugenie White mimicking a phone with her hand, bringing it to her mouth and ear, ¡°someone¡¯s calling you¡± she could joke, and the reason for such a joke was mysterious to Barry. Sometimes, she just did things to catch his attention, and then would detach entirely from his reaction. The way she laughed at her own pleasantry even prior to even speaking it out loud was something unapologetic that he cherished very much. Presently, he scooped her with exaggerated ease ten centimeters before she collided headfirst against the cold and hard marble floor of the station¡¯s main hall, and spilled herself into a flat puree of organs and scattered bones, falling from such a height as the crystal clock tower. He deposited her on that very floor as if she was a pile of champagne glasses and then he burst his own speed bubble with haste. The phone started ringing but he couldn¡¯t notice it yet, he was focused on two things. The first one was the light, it was darker than usual, and he felt the hairs raise on his arms until the wave reached his shoulders, but he was too focused on the second thing, which was Eugenie White¡¯s dazed face and which he found very entertaining. She thought she was falling to her death and now, she was sitting comfortably at the top of the grand stairs. What should have been crushing under her was soft and welcoming. She blinked wildly but seemed to process everything quite rapidly for once, because her initial surprise quickly rose to some kind of horror. The phone was ringing and it was dark in this place and Barry couldn¡¯t really comprehend it, because usually the sound appeared with an image, and Eugenie looked up at him with eyes as large as saucers. ¡°Barry wait¡± he heard her through the ringing of the phone. Was it a real phone? He thought about this scene in the Matrix series where people were constantly running around and jumping on top of buildings, following the ringing of a phone. Eugenie had told him she had watched the first movie of the trilogy at the cinema; things like that allowed him to take the measure of her age. He couldn¡¯t hold a thought still inside his brain, it was the light, it was the strident ringing, it was Eugenie¡¯s face and the hairs on his arms, something organic was calling for his attention but he kept ignoring it because if there was one thing Barry was always savoring, it was the moment after you save someone¡¯s life when they are at a loss for words of relief and thankfulness. Finally, he started to smile brightly down at her, extended a hand to help her, pretty cool, right? She shook her head imperceptibly, raised her eyebrows to her hairline, ¡°Barry no¡± Suddenly the immense passageway hall of the train station was bathed in light again as it was supposed to be on a sunny autumn day and Barry realized that the darkness had been caused by something of ample size sitting on the glass roof. It had moved. It was moving. It was ringing. The light in that place, Grand Central Station, was something he had heard about, or read about, Barry couldn¡¯t remember. The structure was built at an angle to reception the sun through the highly raised windows and their myriad of facets, so as to filter the rays from Earth¡¯s stars into little strings people could touch with their hands, on the ground some twenty meters below. But that was before the city erected some giant skyscrapers around it, blocking the sun from the sides, and only allowing it to shine from directly above. Zenith, it was called. On a hill, on a mountain, he thought, one would see it better, admire the zenith, so why go to an urban place such as this big hub? What was ringing? Phone, he heard inside his head. His ears. He understood that his body was screaming for him to get the fuck out of this place, his gut feeling had been shrieking and punching alarm bells for a while now but his brain had been on complete oblivious mode. There was no phone, there was none of that, no cover. There hadn¡¯t been an update on the map of the enemy that had been able to reach his wristband device because of the velocity with which he had been operating. He froze midway through his descent towards Eugenie¡¯s level and felt his heart shatter come to a stop. A nanosecond later, the droid ship that was now hovering above them dropped a dozen shots that formed a perfect straight line from the back of the stair promontory to the threshold of the first steps. Barry thought that the whole thing either was very quiet or very loud. A fog of destroyed pieces of floor began to float one meter above the ground in perfect harmony, the ripped marble morsels glistening under the light, then the final bullet of the series hit him in the chest and projected him backwards, sending Barry flying madly down the stairs and rolling like a bag of turnips. He heard a faint NO from upstairs, Eugenie had seen it coming more than he had, he thought, as he ended his dive ramming against a pile of chairs that had been assembled there. A trash bin container fell on him from the commotion and lost its lid, hitting him hard on the forehead. Barry landed on his back without any air left inside his lungs and his eyes got hooked on the sight of the glass ceiling of the train station above him, the beautiful lenticular clouds of the season, shaped by the wind. Zenith was shining against them, dropping their shadow heavy down below, cropped hastily. He felt a warmth expand on his back and stick his sweater and tee shirt against his skin in something adhesive and slimy and boiling. In a moment of absolute insanity and ravaging denial, Barry tried to wipe the bullet off his chest, to rub it away as if if was an burning insect that had just landed on him and he could get rid of it, he tried frantically, as if it was embers from a fire that he could extinguish on his shirt with some determined hand motions. His arms gave up after a crazy number of attempts like he had dipped them into concrete and the concrete had dried. He lied there motionless and progressively losing his shit, feeling the hard ground under him.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°FUCK¡± he whimpered, he thought, I can¡¯t believe this happened to me, AGAIN, I can¡¯t believe this happened to me again, oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, for fuck¡¯s sakes, it cannot be true. The familiarity of everything overpowered him, the bite, the sudden gnawing, the weight of his limbs. The feeling his life force was now pouring out of him, departing from him, uninterested in staying inside him, the unbalance of plumpness between the top part of his body and the bottom part, the sponginess of his skin, letting out a wave of cold perspiration from his toes to the top of his skull. The angry pressure at the point of entry of the bullet which felt like he was going to be sucked in through that small dot, pulsating through his right shoulder, his right arm, his fingers on his right hand, the base of his neck. He forced himself to stop dwelling on his disappointment and stop thinking altogether and act, so his eyes browsed upwards for the alien ship¡¯s blurry shadow before a new cacophony of detonations resonated behind him. Those assholes were blind, literally shooting everywhere and in quite a unorganized manner, he saw, so he popped himself up on his butt to bounce but the pain sharpened into a blast on the right side of his chest, and he choked on the water in his mouth, collapsed entirely on the floor in a starfish position. He pushed on his stomach again to rise the upper part of his body but that was impossible, ¡°motherfu¡ª¡± he gasped, closed his eyes, expelled some hot breath from his cheeks. He wasn¡¯t exploding like last time ¡ªoh m¡¯god, last time, he thought bitterly, you and your parading of ¡®I will never get shot again¡¯¡ª he was imploding and shriveling down, the right part of his rib cage was caving in, dropping inward. Some strings of ice and fire were being grated through him and pulling him hard, back to the ground. Things were very wet and slimy and freakishly warm on the floor in which he was wriggling helplessly, and he knew that he was marinating in a puddle of his own blood. ¡°Motherf¡ª¡± the oxygen was warm to breathe too, burning and in insufficient quantity. In the corner of his eye, he intercepted the sight of the trash bin lid, which had ended its journey next to Barry and presented the possibility of a reasonably-sized shelter. Holding his breath through the anguish, he launched his hand to seize it by the small and skinny knob on its outside corona, brushed against it. Stretched once more in a second attempt before they opened new fire on him. One of the shots was a hot needle of air that went through his right forearm as he was flinging it to reach the trash bin lid. The pain was so intense inside his chest that he didn¡¯t actually feel anything but the sight of the blood thrown upwards like a magenta color sprout made him lose his shit. Were they really that blind or was he really unlucky? Barry was fighting against a lot of things, including an astronomical disbelief. ¡°MOTHERFUCKER¡± he shouted and folded on himself, rolled on his stomach and pushed as strongly as he could on his left elbow, looked down. There was simply blood everywhere. ¡°Ffffuu¡ª¡± he was interrupted again by a new row of hostilities and, this time, very well aware of his sitting duck position, Barry shut his eyes and suspended himself through the fracas. Those seconds would see the ceasing of the telephone alarm and the crash of a great silence all around him. They evolved on a plane that didn¡¯t even bolt, which was chewed by a strange slow motion, oily and voracious, born from the inside while eating him from the inside at the same time. He wished to appeal to a happy memory, or a conclusion to his existence on earth at the moment of leaving it, but the silence of those seconds was also accompanied by a dry emptiness. He felt like a shell whose hermit crab has migrated out. He thought he might actually be dead already, What am I supposed to do? He asked absurdly. In the mighty absence of sounds he glanced in front of him, saw the pattern of the salvos undulate away from him in a circular motion, you are NOT dead Masquevert come on MOVE, the volume of his usual inside voice was deafening in such a quiet world, do something, GET UP! Hardly differentiating the up from the down, Barry bit his lips and followed some vague instinctual impulse that had not been sucked out by the ambient death vibe, felt his knees bend to prepare a jump forward, lifted himself on both his arms, gained a couple centimeters. The timid restoration of hope was almost more unbearable than the raging steel fire of the bullets but Barry chose to open his heart to it. He had courage. What he had anticipated would be a leap forward moved rather like the soft crawl of a little snail. Barry winced and swallowed a protest, throwing himself into the motion one more time. The sparkling floor of the grand train station, a masterpiece of rococo, had been turned into Swiss cheese all around him and the debris was dancing up and down in the light like a wall of glitter, so beautiful, he thought, especially in the absolute silence that was hammering everything. He took a deep breath and pulled himself forward another time. It was pretty challenging to pick up speed when the upper right side of his body couldn¡¯t carry him. He was doing his best keeping pessimism at bay when one isolated projectile hit him in the back just under his right shoulder blade and the shock flattened him like a pancake. Desperation sank him. All sounds returned and engulfed him like a whirlpool. He heard the saddened grunt coming from his lips and found it so pathetic that his heart broke between his ribs. Some of those ribs must have been smashed at the passage of the little pieces of metal because the pain became sizzling and removed all the air out of his lungs. He felt the last drop of oxygen melt out from his lips. There was a feeling that he had been chopped into two vertical halves. The disharmony and loudness and the incendiaries inflicted to the ends of the spaghetti strings of his nervous system crushed him for good now and he fused with the floor below, closed his eyes and let his head land gently against the cold cold polished mineral. That extreme change in temperature made him aware of how warm everything was and that he was covered entirely with sweat, and some very hot tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, scorching his sinuses. He buried his face in his sleeves and waited for his head to get blown up. PART 3: That bitch moon (4) Eugenie watched Barry get gunned down and swatted like a fly on top of her. The sounds around her dissolved into some kind of soup due to the proximity of the other bullets which barely missed her and were shaking the ground below her feet. This extraordinary fortune would become a tale for the years to come, how all the shots had missed Eugenie, although she wouldn¡¯t ever be able to remember the episode herself. She was busy trying to remember how to speak a human language at the moment to be released from his bolting bubble, in order to warn him that he had accidentally dropped her and himself into enemy territory but then, the sentence had just been: ¡°Barry wait¡± followed by ¡°Barry no¡± ¨Cuseless. Who are you, in times of high action, that was a legitimate question to ask, and quite arduous to answer before any real high action presented itself. Eugenie discovered that she was a mix of both useless and possessed. In the tiny fraction of a second, Barry had gone from standing there with a stupid grin on his face to flicked, like a small piece of yarn is flicked from an impeccable and ironed wool sleeve, a huge purple flower opening on the right side of his chest, and Eugenie¡¯s mouth gaped open, she tried to say, ¡°NO¡± but she only managed to wheeze and sniffle. There were too many bullets hitting the ground on which she sat and, soon enough, stood, and she thought she was going to faint. Following that, she lost all recollection of her actions. During a moment when she questioned her entire life decisions, she had the brief replayed vision of that sneer from Ivan saying ¡®bullet blanket¡¯ and winking to Barry, she got up on her feet and felt the chills run down her spine. Now he had just saved her life, from a deadly fall into the precipice. She must save his. You already saved his li¡ªshe switched off that silly voice, she was done arguing. She tuned off to the ear-splitting beatings of her heart. She stepped forward crouching and being guided by the light above, slaloming behind the channel of the mrai moumou ship on top of her, and then she paused and knelt at the opening of the grand stairs. There, she expected to be met by a thought but she identified only a push. Providence having maintained her on the safe side of the menace, she found it terrifyingly easy to just follow the path of destruction of the hovering ship, as it didn¡¯t seem to care about turning around and didn¡¯t look like it was even merely interested in her. The droids matched Barry¡¯s energy because of his race signature, and they¡¯d locked in on him, even if they were half blinded by the dusty glass roof on top of which they were floating. The apocalyptic sound mix of detonations and bites into hard marble, collapsing of pieces of the ceiling against the cold metal of the structures and vending machines below, crumpling of the concrete corners into piles of dust, everything was drowned together in a dull blow and screech as if she was under water. She went down the stairs very carefully and very precisely, with short steps, stopping at key moments synchronizing with the explosions on top of her and avoiding heavy objects falling from the sky. No, Barry, no, she begged him not to die, she begged him to discontinue lying there covered in blood and waiting to be executed, she begged him in the name of the cleverness and perseverance he had nourished well enough to show up at her balcony before and have faith in some nursing skills she wouldn¡¯t have ever thought were sufficient to bring him back to life. She begged him in the name of the ingenuity and devotion she had had in order to rescue and shelter him, the double life she had led, the epiphanies she had let bloom into her existence.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. But Barry appeared trapped into some internal quicksand, his torso already soaked with blood, the expression on his face scandalized and incredulous and alarmed. She watched him push himself up unsuccessfully, slide a desperate hand towards the lid of a knocked over trash bin. She eyed the thing with intrigue, agreed with the choice of it. She saw one more row of gunfire barely miss his skull. All of a sudden, under the crude white autumn light pouring from the ceiling and filtered as soft glitter by the dusty glass frames, he already looked very under the weather. She watched Barry get shot two more times, once in the arm and another time in the back, a cruel hit which dug a twin hole near the gaping one he had already suffered at the summit of the stairway. At this point he rolled into a bean position before melting against the marble tiles of the sticky floor and Eugenie couldn¡¯t be sure that he was going to survive the next twenty-five seconds. It seemed that the whole grandiose middle hall of the train station was slowly but surely folding on them and time was running out. Presently, that she had eyes on Barry, it wasn¡¯t a push anymore. It was a pull. She wouldn¡¯t ever be able to remember any of this strange phenomenon that was inhabiting her. Delivering at the perfect moment and as if she had trained for this specific manoeuvre all her life, she surfed on the last stair steps with feet soles up, extending one leg, an operation which opened ample space on her side when she dropped down her hand to brush against the trash bin lid. It might as well have been made of feathers, as the traction and picked up speed and released tension from Eugenie White, an individual usually devoid of any nimbleness and athleticism, allowed her to continue gliding and to reverse herself, eventually, to land on top of Barry with the protective lid half elevated against their flank. Three hungry bullets lodged into its metal immediately. ¡°Hang on Barry!¡± she yelled, using her free hand to flip him on his back like a beef patty on the grill, tossing him up under the futile protection of her body, but then, raising her shield higher with the other hand, she covered them both. They locked eyes in this unexpected position under a new curtain of steel, ¡°HANG ON BARRY¡± she shouted and brought her face one inch from his. ¡°OH SHIT¡± the astonishment opened Barry¡¯s eyes as large as dinner plates. Eugenie admired the tiny speck of life at the bottom of them as held on through another assault. Later on, she would look in the bathroom mirror at all the bruises on her back after being rained on by bullets from the sky, and not recall a single one of them. She didn¡¯t feel anything. He squinted at her in dubiety, ¡°holy shit¡± he said again, his voice hoarse and coming from the bottom of some very faraway place. Barry¡¯s eyelids fluttered like the wings of a bat. His skin was the color of death. ¡°Bolt¡± she implored him. He threw her back a tired look, shook his head, closed his eyes in bitterness, ¡°I c can¡¯t¡± he answered. ¡°Please¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not gonna happen¡± She felt one of his hands grip her elbow, squeeze it intensely. ¡°Run¡± The word produced a small bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth and liquefied her. He opened his eyes again, swallowed hard and said, ¡°F fly little b bird¡± ¡°HANG ON BARRY¡± Now that there were two targets for the droids, the shots were pouring and rather accurately, their noise similar to some drum rolls announcing something fantastic. ¡°The Sky people have sent us a message¡ª¡± ¡°Not now¡± He frowned, ¡°I think¡­ I¡¯m gonna die this time¡± ¡°Shut up, they¡¯re coming¡± ¡°Who¡± his voice was so low, buried deep. His stare was piercing hers as much as he seemed to look through her. ¡°What are you talking about, your Team of course, they¡¯re coming¡± ¡°Yeah¡± she caught his smile and shivered. He lifted his chin and just smiled lightly, his breath whistling like out of a poked balloon. The presence of the blood beneath her was tremendous. It soaked Barry¡¯s sweater completely and was still coming bright red and flashy and glistening under the sun. ¡°Hang on, just hang on¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ think I¡¯m gonna make it this time¡± he sighed Eugenie punched the floor next to his head, ¡°Barry shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP¡± PART 3: That bitch moon (5) They tumbled like an avalanche at the back of Alphonse¡¯s van and Ivan hit his butt hard against one of the metal boxes on the side. He was only twenty years old but sometimes, waking up from a day of action, he could easily imagine what an aged man could feel after living some long years. Eugenie White brutally dropped Barry in the middle of the robotics equipment and all the tools Daphne kept there for her cooking lessons, and Alphonse took a turn so sharp that the back doors opened. Some spoons and plates flew out, a fishing stick, the very expensive radio antenna that Robortor had fetched from an abandoned Soviet site. ¡°Where the fuck is Uberwoman?¡± Darlene yelled at the top of her lungs. She seized the doors that were swinging in the wind and closed them sharply, as it was a well known fact that she had the strongest arms of the group. After Marlene, of course. ¡°Slowing them down¡± Ivan nodded at her She looked down at Barry completely compressed on the floor of the vehicle. Ivan had never seen so much blood in his life, ¡°why are we not FLYING¡± Darlene asked, mesmerized ¡°The sky isn¡¯t safe now¡± Alphonse replied. Just to punctuate his words, a small mushroom cloud of yellow and orange hues materialized in the close horizon. Ivan shivered. ¡°IVAN¡± Eugenie White tugged at his sleeve, then she snapped her fingers at Darlene, ¡°Darlene, Ivan, help me¡± That was the moment Robortor slammed violently into the van from the right side, sending a quake through the small crowd of passengers in the back, ¡°hold onto something¡±! Darlene urged. Clinging to the same pipe from the ceiling as Eugenie did, Ivan watched her tighten her knees tight around Barry¡¯s shoulders, her free hand hooked on the collar of his jumper. Barry¡¯s arms went upward following the strength of the bump and his body twitched. He didn¡¯t look well at all. ¡°Sorry!¡± George exclaimed, taking a cautious seat next to Alphonse, ¡°what¡¯s happening IS THAT BARRY¡± ¡°Barry was gunned down¡± Eugenie said while unzipping the hoodie he was wearing. The dark color underplayed the quantity of blood that Ivan¡¯s friend had already shed. Once the tee shirt he had on underneath was exposed, he repressed a squeal, ¡°we need to stop this car so I can help him, there is too much blood everywhere, I cannot see a thing¡± Barry¡¯s sleepy eyes were following all the movements of her fluttering hands as if they were floating rings in the stormy sea. ¡°We cannot park, Ms White¡± Alphonse replied calmly, keeping his eyes on the road, ¡°there is actually lava on our tracks¡± ¡°Barry!¡± George jumped from the passenger seat to crouch next to Eugenie, grabbed his friend by the shoulders ¡°you¡¯re okay Barry?¡± ¡°No¡± Barry shook his head ¡°Come on come on don¡¯t shake him¡± Darlene swatted George¡¯s huge hand away, ¡°he¡¯s been shot like three times¡± ¡°THREE TIMES YOU FOOLS WHAT DID YOU DO¡± ¡°Listen Ivan¡± Eugenie always addressed him as if he was the smartest of the band, after Marlene of course. She certainly had a way to communicate with him that made him feel like she valued his role more than Hobbes or than Robortor¡¯s, who was the other adrenaline junkie of the team, ¡°take this rag¡± she produced a large towel stained with grease and black grease out of nowhere ¡°and all of us¡± she eyed Darlene and George, ¡°we¡¯re going to lift Barry and you will slide it under his back¡± ¡°No please¡± Barry frowned Eugenie totally ignored him, like she had merged into a new persona, ¡°Then we will lie him back down very very flat against the fabric¡± ¡°Noo please it h¡ª¡± In very fast and precise movements, Eugenie rolled off Barry¡¯s long sleeves and discarded his sweat shirt when Darlene and Robortor pulled Barry up, ¡°are those bullet holes mate?¡± George asked, ¡°why is that one so big?¡± ¡°You can handle it, Barry¡± Eugenie said to him. He held on through the motion, closed his eyes and swallowed something that seemed to be chunky peanut butter inside his mouth while his feet kicked feebly at the end of his legs. ¡°Because the hit came from the back and exited through his front¡± Eugenie explained. She looked super focused, hyper focused, something else that Ivan had never seen before. Barry¡¯s eyes met his from down below as he was pushing his friend back against the floor. ¡°Talk to him, keep him awake¡± Eugenie ordered Robortor, then handed another rag to Darlene, ¡°Darlene, wrap this thing around Barry¡¯s arm, the other arm, NOT this arm, the other one¡± ¡°There is blood all over this arm too¡± ¡°I know I know¡± Eugenie was speaking patiently, Ivan guessed, because she was accustomed to large populations of students expressing all sorts of things at the same time ¡°My friend, where the hell were you attacked??¡± Robortor leaned over Barry and asked him ¡°Talk to him about something NICE¡± ¡°Train¡­ station¡± Barry¡¯s eyelids flickered ¡°Ivan, press this towel on his chest, let¡¯s just stop this blood its¡ª¡± she sniffled loudly, wiped her nose with her sleeve, spreading more blood on her upper lip although the left side of her face was entirely sticky with some older less bright red liquid, ¡°it¡¯s too much¡± ¡°Sorry man¡± ¡°Fuu¡ª¡± Barry grimaced in pain and his cheeks blew some hot air through a chicken-butt shaped mouth ¡°Something nice, something nice¡± George was still thinking, ¡°Barry, remember when you found that lizard and he wouldn¡¯t leave you? You tried to release him back to the wild and he didn¡¯t want to go¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that the lizard that Hobbes accidentally ran ov¡ª¡± ¡°Shhh, Ivan, Eugenie gave you a job¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Eugenie nodded appreciatively, but Barry¡¯s face didn¡¯t seem to register. His body was softly convulsing, like he was trying to unlock some secret portal on the floor of the van and disappear into it ¡°someone has a pen?¡± she asked ¡°I don¡¯t have pockets¡± Arachnovitch said ¡°I have a pencil¡± ¡°Like an ink roller pen¡± Eugenie specified ¡°You¡¯re a teacher and you don¡¯t carry a pen?¡± Darlene said, ¡°sorry sweetie, I meant¡ª¡± ¡°DO YOU HAVE A PEN OR NOT?¡± ¡°It¡¯s out of ink¡± Alphonse said without fuss ¡°I¡¯m NOT going to write with it, dammit!¡± Eugenie was frustrated. Under her, Ivan saw Barry¡¯s mouth welcome a small and faint smile, his eyes roll into their orbs and look up at her. His breathing was short and quivering. He anchored himself to Eugenie White¡¯s image as if to hold on to something concretely, with hands instead of eyes, as if to not fall into a crevasse. ¡°Sorry little Barry¡± Darlene said after tying a strong knot on his forearm, ¡°what¡¯s it for, the pen?¡± ¡°We need to find a hospital¡± Eugenie inspected the pen, her knee still blocking Barry¡¯s legs and her other hand on his left shoulder to prevent him from sliding. Outside, the van barely missed an ablaze tree that collapsed and sent some baby flames licking the sidewalk around the big avenue they were driving ¡°Evacuation has been completed¡± Alphonse exclaimed, avoiding a huge pothole at the last second, ¡°there are no functioning hospitals in the area. FUCK¡± he cursed at a street pole dropping on an ice cream station right next to them, ¡°it¡¯s like fucking Mario Kart here!¡± ¡°Get Hobbes on the line¡± Darlene said ¡°Barry, remember that lizard? You named him Barry, right? You really don¡¯t have any imagination¡± Ivan watched Eugenie slid her finger under Barry¡¯s tee shirt, push it up to reveal his abdomen and the lower part of his chest. His skin was glistening with brown and red blood, some of it streaming down in thick drops, some of the goo mixing with the now old ugly scar he had above his belly button. Ivan realized that he didn¡¯t know the total of blood liters that a human body contained. The smell was unbearable, it smelled like copper, like sick saliva. It smelled like death. ¡°Hobbes is always on the line¡± Barry gasped for air, his face crumpled in pain like a dried olive, ¡°I¡¯m not going to make it¡± he said ¡°BARRY SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP¡± Eugenie slapped his face. They all screamed inside the car, even Alphonse. ¡°Eugenie White!¡± Alphonse barked at her reproachfully. Ivan was shocked but Eugenie¡¯s eyes commanded authority, something he had guessed she possessed from her curriculum vitae but that he had never personally witnessed ¡°Pen¡¯s for that¡± Eugenie raised her right arm in the air while the vehicle was beginning a slow turn. She waited, holding her breath, for the manoeuvre to happen, ¡°Barry, think about something nice, something beautiful¡± And as if he didn¡¯t hold any grudges for the blow she¡¯d just inflicted to him while he was already struggling to stay alive, he nodded at her with some kind of silent understanding. He clenched his jaws and howled low. The air at his mouth was whistling like a basket of snakes. ¡°Hobbes is saying there are no staffed hospitals nearby¡± Alphonse informed ¡°Motherfucker wait¡± Eugenie whispered, then plunged the pen¡¯s plastic case inside Barry¡¯s rib cage. Ivan watched his friend¡¯s back arched and propped up like the one of a ballet dancer. Darlene couldn¡¯t repress a step back and George stared with offense at Eugenie White. Barry¡¯s fingernails dug feebly at the iron floor, the heels inside his shoes hammering it. ¡°Better, better¡± Eugenie said, holding his chin with a soft hand. She nodded at him, ¡°breathe, Barry¡± He nodded back and they nodded at each other for a very long series of twenty seconds. Having been the one catching them in an eyelock above the kitchen table at Hobbes¡¯ Lab and starting the wild rumors about it, Ivan felt some new chills climb up his spine, which were very different from the goosebumps he experienced earlier. Eugenie seized Ivan¡¯s hand, ¡°Ivan, chouchou, tap your finger up and down on the opening of the pen¡± He reluctantly grabbed the said pen that was sticking out of Barry¡¯s chest, ¡°in a breathing rhythm¡± ¡°Like how¡± Darlene asked but she was interrupted by her own gag watching a mix of egg white slime and blood spit out of the pen ¡°Darlene, keep the rag on, Robortor, please, get me the phone with Hobbes on the line¡± Eugenie White was distributing orders now, ¡°Ivan, come on! Use your own breathing as reference!¡± ¡°You ever seen ER?¡± Darlene said, ¡°Dr Ross used that trick during a spectacular accident, I mean, a bus crash in a thunderstorm. He saved the life of a little kid who had fallen into a sewer¡± ¡°Exactly¡± Eugenie said ¡°That¡¯s a very old TV show¡± Robortor handed the phone to Eugenie ¡°It¡¯s iconic¡± Darlene opposed ¡°Hobbes, I cannot hear you, but I cannot stress it more: we need a hospital¡± ¡°He¡¯s saying that all hospitals have been deserted, and we will treat Masquevert at home¡± Alphonse carried the communication ¡°HOBBES we cannot take care of Barry at home, he¡¯s going to DIE¡± Ivan looked down at Barry, whose eyes grew larger with panic and also the offense that argued that he had just mentioned that possibility himself just before and had gotten slapped in the face for it? ¡°No-ho¡± Ivan forced himself to chuckle, obsessed with his thumb on the opening of the pen, ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s exaggerating, Barry¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care I don¡¯t need a hospital with a staff in it, I need the tools there, Hobbes, tell him! Alphonse, tell him!¡± ¡°What tools?¡± Alphonse conveyed. All eyes fell on Eugenie and the right cheek on her face that anger was slowly making redder and redder so as if to match her bloody left one. ¡°Instruments! Like¡­ surgical, stick some sponges inside Barry there and stop all the blood gushing, I need some fucking machines that have tubes and bleeps because those machines will tell me¡ª I need a motherfucking blood bank, I need a sowing kit that doesn¡¯t come from a Danish cookie box from Hobbes'' grandma, I need¡ª¡¯ ¡°GOT IT¡± Alphonse cut her off abruptly, ¡°looking for the next medical center¡± ¡°Ivan, we need to sit Barry up or his lungs will fill with fluids, come on, slide your hands under his arms and lift. Barry grimaced in agony and shook his head, resisting the move, ¡°sit him up against you in the back, all cozy and? Barry, listen to me¡± she plunged her eyes onto his, ¡°YOU CAN HANDLE IT¡± ¡°What kind of fluids¡± ¡°The not-good kind¡± Eugenie added Ivan¡¯s hands to hers and pulled up under Barry¡¯s elbows, ¡°Darlene, can you make sure that the towels in the back don¡¯t fall? Tie a knot¡± ¡°They are fucking drenched¡± ¡°You are shitting me right?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll find some other rags¡± Darlene said, as she was a very quick learner, ¡°George, can you super-dry this piece of fabric?¡± ¡°Ivan, lift please¡± Eugenie signaled him and replaced her right hand with her knee, mixing a pull and a push while she held the pen in position on the side of Barry¡¯s chest. ¡°Holy sh¡ª¡± Barry gasped, ¡°it huurts, it really hurts, it rea¡ª¡± ¡°That¡¯s because your ribs have been demolished, some of them are at risk of poking through your lungs, so sit still and stop resisting, Barry¡± ¡°Dem... demol¡ª¡± ¡°There is debris floating in your chest, I will have to open it and tidy everything there¡± ¡°Op¡­ op¡ª¡± Barry was trying to repeat her words, horrified ¡°I will not let you die. George, you are supposed to distract him¡± ¡°We have arrived at a clinic¡± George said, intensely scrolling on his wrist watch, ¡°I¡¯m gonna bulldoze in there and get a stretcher¡± As the van slowed down, they all lifted their eyes to take in the building. Half of it was on fire, the part that read Emergencies, but the maternity ward was intact, shielded from the flames by a steel wall. ¡°Premature babies are born there, they have everything we need¡± Eugenie said. Alphonse jumped on his butt and finally darted a shocked look at the back of the van, "I"m sorry, premature babies wh what?" PART 4: Ten tables (1) The operating table Looking around in the dim light, Eugenie realized that the room they had been using was a maternity room. She lazily rolled her stool next to Barry thinking about that. How many babies had been delivered in that place? She had never seen an empty public place, let alone a medical one. Now, she was alone in this room that had witnessed the start of many human lives, the transformation of many people into parents. Some of them might have become shitty parents, some others, excellent ones. She looked down at Barry. There would be a next step in the following hour that would be to locate an actual bed with a mattress and some bedding where to stick him on. She had sent everyone on a mission for that. She wished to be alone with him. In a way, she desired to admire her own work. It was easy to think back at all those doctors who had been condescending to her back during her nursing internship, who had deterred her for pursuing this professional path, but she couldn¡¯t do that. It had never been a vocation for Eugenie, to become a nurse, it had rather been something she had pulled out of her hat when she couldn¡¯t think of an idea post secondary. That¡¯s why she understood teenagers so well, she often told herself: she had felt like one for a very long time, long after you¡¯re supposed to stop being a teenager. At the time she had been an intern, she wasn¡¯t focused, she wasn¡¯t detail-oriented. She was fascinated by the number of existences that she could hold between her hands and see go better or worse, sometimes much worse, and that had been where her heart was, but not her devotion. She couldn¡¯t blame those people for discouraging her away from this field, because they had been right. But there was a simple, basic human wish that danced in front of her eyes right now, if you could see me, I can do stuff, I can do stuff I didn¡¯t know I was capable of. She had opened Barry like a cake, what could be commonly called a small incision in the middle of his chest but that she thought was quite huge, and she had spread the two sides of his torso with forceps, which was the moment when Darlene¡¯s cheeks had filled with vomit but she had held on. There, she had succeeded to staple the side of his lung upright so he could continue to breathe with it and there would be no need to discard it and add it to the pile of Darlene¡¯s puke in the corner of the room, or replace it with some fancy technology that Alphonse hadn''t invented yet as had been the case with some of Robortor¡¯s body parts. She had taped some of his ribs together so they wouldn¡¯t be bouncing inside their cage and threatening some other poor soft tissue organs. She hoped with all her heart that she had been clean enough in that enterprise. Only time would tell. Only death would be a sign, and life on the opposite plane. She stiffened at the sound of steps in the adjacent hallway, but it must have been something falling and rolling along the empty walls, because silence quickly followed back. She was still alone with Barry. Eugenie leaned over and run her fingers around the square of sponging gauze on his chest to make sure they were still sticky. Blood was still leaking and making everything slimy too fast, she thought, but the transfusion that was running from a Bordeaux color baggie on the side towards the middle of Barry¡¯s left arm was working its way to make up for it. Blood was a liquid and liquids flowed, she had heard so many times. Even through the tightest-looking stitching jobs, through a tiny hole, liquids flowed. You just had to replace them with better and newer liquids, keep the balance. The hole under the top square, just under his clavicle bone, was huge and had shredded edges. Eugenie recalled having seen the same on a man that had been shot through his eye, and had almost had his nose taken away by the exit wound. She wasn¡¯t bothered by the sight of those things, strangely, which was a skill that, of course, was much needed if you were going to work trying to heal people and save their lives, but Eugenie had always thought that it was random, probably innate, probably inexplicable. She had never brushed against gore or hemoglobin or broken bodies before she had started Medicine School, so she couldn¡¯t really attribute this absence of being disturbed to any particular life training. She could see people empty themselves of their life force and fluids, mouths wide open, eyes yellowed, and not bat her own eyes. She could hear people screams of pain and not wish to cover her ears, not feel haunted by their echoes once at home or in the shower or before sleep. It was truly a gift, that she had wasted, before Barry showed and up and demanded she resurrected that skill.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. As she did him, presently. She had brought him back to life, except this time, she hadn¡¯t done it alone. Without Marlene and Ivan and Alphonse and even Darlene, Barry would be dead. She looked at his face and realized his eyes were half open. She gasped and jumped on her butt, ¡°Jesussss¡± Barry blinked at her. In this position, which was still the operating table, his head lied down flat without pillow under it, just a thin metal box that was holding the elastic bands of the impressive oxygen mask which had been placed around his mouth, while an even more impressive thick tube was still stuck down his throat. He closed his eyes and seemed to sigh, ¡°Barry?¡± she asked, bringing her face closer to his, sliding her fingers inside his. He blinked quickly several times and, in spite of the spoonful that the tube invaded between his teeth, he showed her a little smile. ¡°You crazy motherfucker¡± she whispered, ¡°what are you smiling about¡± He nodded feebly, blinked quickly again, and then shut his eyes again. Very wet tears dropped on the sides of his head. ¡°It¡¯s alright¡± Eugenie pulled up the sides of the space blanket all around him to conserve warmth, as it was still impossible to cover him with anything , ¡°I repaired you Barry¡± she said, at least I hope so, I certainly can¡¯t be sure for now, ¡°now you get this job, it¡¯s your turn to do the work, you have to just¡± she felt grief obstruct her throat, looked up at the ceiling to fight against a sob, ¡°you know. You are strong¡± She nodded, but he just seemed to look right through her. Without the very useful beeps of the different machines he was hooked to, she could have wondered if he had just died, while she was turning her eyes up to the sky, for a nanosecond, ¡°nod if you understand me¡± she ordered him with authority. He moved his head almost imperceptibly, flickered his eyelids, shed more eye water, ¡°you are powerful. If you die, Barry, I will kill you¡± His little smile returned, weakly lifting the corners of his lips, as he recognized the fake line they had both delivered to one of his former one-night stands at the moment of making up a story. His cheeks and forehead were starting to sweat a lot again and a quick spasm zapped up his shoulders, which was probably due to the anguish in his body, so Eugenie clicked the drip of the morphine on the foot of the bed and sent him a fresh wave of relief, ¡°sleep, Barry, sleep, close your eyes¡± she scratched his skull with tenderness, but panic flashed madly at the center of his eyes, ¡°no no, i know you are afraid, but you will be alright, it¡¯s okay to go to sleep, just for a couple hours¡± one tear from her own eye landed on Barry¡¯s nose, ¡°shit, I¡¯m crying on your face, BARRY¡± she wiped another tear, ¡°I trust you. And you trust my judgement, right?¡± He blinked as fast as he could, ¡°goood? Don¡¯t be afraid. I will see you on the other side, don¡¯t worry¡± His eyes slowly closed and lost more tears, which accumulated under his bottom lid now, making a mini puddle, ¡°don¡¯t fight it¡± Eugenie said. The water from their tears mixed in that little pool, on his skin. Then he was asleep. Eugenie remained frozen on top of Barry, leaned almost against him, her hands around his head, for two or three very long minutes during which she couldn¡¯t move, because all her body was screaming to do was expel from the operating room and grab a huge stick or a chair and destroy as many walls as she could and shatter as much furniture as possible. She had not been ready for that terror she had seen at the bottom of his eyes as she encouraged him to fall asleep and to have faith and to be strong. She wished so much she could presently rewind that moment that had just evaporated on the timeline and change her decision, modify how she had spoken to him. The violence of her uncertainty suffocated her, so much so that she had to push herself away from Barry and let herself crumble to the floor, her butt sinking in the middle of the blood pond, her back shaking against the metal leg of the operating table. The cruelty of the unknown overcame her, sucked her into darkness, ¡°Eugenie¡± she heard Darlene enter the room, ¡°why are you on the ground crying is Barry dead??¡± ¡°Noo he¡¯s not dead, he¡¯s alive I guess¡± she sobbed openly, ¡°can I be alone please¡± ¡°Darling¡± Darlene crouched in front of her and wrapped her arms around Eugenie. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do¡± Eugenie cried in her friend¡¯s neck, sticking her hair to her runny nose ¡°You did well, you did WELL" "Really?" "Of course!" Darlene whispered with tenderness, "I''m sure, I mean, probably" PART 4: Ten tables (2) Tabula Rasa Hobbes woke up every day and wondered why he kept that group photo of his Team displayed on the commode in front of his and Daphne¡¯s bed. He looked at the picture in the frame. His Team with a capital T. A bunch of losers, really, Losers with a capital L ¨Cexcept for Marlene, of course. After their immense success with the improvised way he led them through the mission on the Moon, what had followed had been a series of disasters one after the other. Evidently, they were staring back at him for reference, their faces similar to the fishes in the tanks of the fancy restaurants where he used to dine with his late wife, places where he didn¡¯t dare set foot right now, fearing monumental embarrassment. His biggest worry was to end up on the front page of the news, not the websites on the World Wide Web, but the paper version that Daphne used to read at breakfast with her tea and her one freshly-baked cinnamon roll, an expression of sadness on her lovely traits when she saw her husband¡¯s picture there with headlines following the gist of The Trungsten Man, Super Hero who Didn¡¯t Give a Fuck or Billionaire with Mutant Abilities Makes Donation to the Wrong Charity. She would push her little cup away with disgust as if it was responsible for this deplorable content and she couldn¡¯t bring herself to have one more sip of it, and she would say, ¡°they just don¡¯t understand you, darling¡± He felt like she was still watching, from above, frowning at such contents. For now, he had to face one that he personally disliked, a small column in the middle of the paper, with the pixelized portrait of Barry Masquevert as its hat, probably fetched from some old Facebook profile online: Victim of Shooting at Grand Central Station identified. Now they wanted to know why he, Barry Masquevert, had been there. They were the police, Hobbes scratched his head nervously. They were making him feel uncomfortable. They were inclined to investigate the reason for someone, whose record showed he had barely made it out of high school and that, the seven years following that, he had engaged in no post-secondary universities studies, no training, and withheld non job, to be there while the whole area had been evacuated an hour before. Marlene and he were the only two superheroes of the Team to have their real identities known by the public, simply because the manner he had become Trungsten Man had taken place very dramatically on everyone¡¯s television sets twenty years earlier with absolutely no privacy. When it came to Marlene, her Uberwoman persona being recognized helped her raise awareness for the thousands of issues she cared about and after that, she retreated inside her castle with her fifty cats and activated the electromagnetic field around the little forest she owned over 5 hectares, so it was all good. The rest of them had professions and families who didn¡¯t suspect a thing, including Barry Masquevert. He was jobless and Hobbes hoped that he wasn¡¯t ready to make little Barries with a wife and he was, without a doubt, the biggest loser of them all, but he needed his secret double life protected. Anyone exposed put the group in danger. He was not feeling it, as he entered into the briefing room. All those idiots were sitting there waiting for him, eating his shrimp chips and leaving so many greasy crumbs on his table. Except for Marlene, who was standing in the corner, all suited-up, her face relaxed; she stepped forward when Hobbes appeared, indicating she was ready for action. The light from the ceiling chandelier glared benevolently on her, highlighting the dazzling sparkle in her eye and the glistening of the wide necklace around her muscular neck. She was Hobbes¡¯ biggest asset, she had been Daphne¡¯s best friend before she had passed, she spoke one hundred and fifty languages, some of them extinct, and she would always be his first choice when it came to any endeavor of the Team but this, time, he knew things would be different. His biggest wild card would have to be the insufferable Eugenie White. He sighed when White¡¯s and his eyes met. She always made a point to look straight at him like she thought she had the might to destabilize him, which was ridiculous but also incredibly annoying. She had no power, no mutant skill, she was pretty much useless but she kept on being cocky and confrontational with him, as if she knew and enjoyed the fact that, in his current position, he couldn¡¯t get rid of her yet. ¡®She doesn¡¯t enjoy that at all actually, Hobbes¡¯ Marlene kept telling him. The funny thing was indeed that Eugenie White, with her huge eyes and her severe eyebrows, possessed in her heart the hope that soon, the Team led by Hobbes and Marlene, who was kind of like vice-Hobbes, would ditch her for good, so she and Hobbes were on the same page about that point for sure. But she was his link to Barry, she had been for two years now, some sort of mentor that kept him in line. ¡®Why do you need Barry so much in your Team?¡¯ she had asked him directly one day, calling it your Team like it was a product of his delulu. This question is gravely out of your fucking business, he had been tempted to reply ¡®Uh, Have you ever heard? Barry can stop time. He had the strongest power of the group, after Uberwoman¡¯ ¡®Can¡¯t Alphonse make up a device that does the same?¡¯ ¡®Uuuuh¡¯ he had pretended to think about it just like every time he found himself around one of those dreadfully slow civilians, ¡®no. Eugenie White, this place, here, is my house, our headquarters, kind of like, the siege of Macintosh or like, Quantico. Not Wonderland¡¯ ¡®Can¡¯t Robortor create a freeze bubble or something similar?¡¯ The fact that Marlene compared Eugenie and Barry¡¯s side-kickerie to his and Alphonse¡¯s was utterly bonkers. Alphonse was a useful man, Alphonse played around with cutting-edge technology, Alphonse had fought in several twentieth-century wars and faced death, Alphonse could cook a souffl¨¦, make tiramisu! Even Alphonse thought that Eugenie White was deader weight than the back part of a mullet, with her total absence of superabilties, the difficulties to carve her out of her eight-to-four schedule, the test copies she brought to their lab because she had to correct and grade them, her saggy boobs, undyed hair and the boring blouses she was always wearing. And yet everyone shared the same unspoken feeling ¨Cunspoken because it was disgusting¡ª that she was Barry¡¯s biggest crush on earth, God knew why. It was plausible that the two had bonded during the time Barry had crashed at her place and that the confusing episode had stirred some passion into the boy¡¯s na?ve heart. Had they slept together? The idea brought revulsion to Hobbes, and he thought that Eugenie White could sense that, because she crossed her arms on her chest at the table in front of him, enduring through the staring contest. He didn¡¯t even bother and looked away. ¡°Everyone listen up, don¡¯t fuck around¡± Hobbes said firmly, feeling a headache starting to materialize at his brows. He dropped the newspaper opened at the middle page where Barry¡¯s photo was, ¡°what we have to do is NOT to demolish the house, this is not a wrecking ball mission, we have to be subtle. You understand that word, right?¡± They all nodded like obedient children, even Eugenie White. ¡°We have to retrieve Barry from the hospital, and this is not a simple task¡± Could they handle the nuances of what he was about to explain? Marlene¡¯s eyes shone fiercely at him, giving him courage. ¡°It goes without saying that Uberwoman and I can¡¯t be part of that assignment, as it is capital that no one associates Barry Masquevert with our Team, you see? I repeat: not representing the Team there. You will be dressed as prison employees¡± ¡°Prison employees?¡± Ivan cut him off ¡°Jail guards¡± Marlene corrected Hobbes. Regular humans had jobs with such disconcerting titles, especially seeing that nothing civilians were doing in their daily lives was as useful as what a superhero was accomplishing in the time frame of half an hour. ¡°Eugenie White, who is the oldest of all of you dumba¡ª guys, will represent the fake correction officer there to pick up Barry and Alphonse will print us out a paper that says that the boy is being placed under arrest¡± How old could she be? She looked old. Like fifty, but that was impossible, because Hobbes himself was fifty years old. She was at least fifteen years older than Barry, ¡°Robortor, you will make sure they can scan those ID¡¯s and don¡¯t ring any alarm bells, get into the system tonight. We go tomorrow. Darlene, who is the most attractive of the rest of you, will keep the doctor or whoever there, occupied while you load Masquevert into a wheel chair and then, you will be out of there¡± ¡°Why do I have to go?¡± Eugenie White asked, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about jails or guarding jails or prisoners¡± It was fascinating that she and Hobbes actually agreed constantly about the futility of her presence, ¡°Alphonse will brief you¡± ¡°And it will be fun¡± Robortor mentioned ¡°See here is the problem we have been encountering during the past year. You imbec¡ª my fellow mutant men and women, seem to consider everything in terms of fun. I want you to try to see the stakes of¡ª¡± He was interrupted again, this time by Marlene, who added, looking straight at Eugenie¡¯s face, ¡°and by the way, we are not sure that Barry will follow if you¡¯re not there¡± Darlene whistled from the corner of her table, where she was admiring her polished nails, ¡°Whoop! We have a Barry whisperer here¡± Hobbes watched Eugenie White dart a somber look at Darlene but they exchanged a smile. The fact that those two ladies, so dissimilar, had struck a friendship was a mystery to him, ¡°I think we need you to be the correction officer, Hobbes, and Eugenie will be a nurse¡± Darlene proposed ¡°Why¡± ¡°Cause she¡¯s a nurse¡± ¡°I don¡¯t imagine a hospital will let discharge a patient that¡¯s barely out of intubation without a nurse¡± Robortor agreed ¡°Plus you¡¯re way easier to disguise into something else than Marlene¡± Darlene concluded. Predictably, because authority was a concept that was fading rapidly into the modern times, those wankers who were supposed to be his subordinates had utterly changed the plan and Hobbes was sweating under his bald cap. Alphonse¡¯s magic had been able to turn him into a fatter and older version of himself, wearing a mustache and some thick glasses. He felt like he resembled the clich¨¦ character of the child kidnapper or the serial murderer in the movies, especially wearing this dumb onesie-like suit saying CORRECTION at the back. A couple of words and dazzling smiles across the entrance hall and Darlene convinced the front desk secretary of their Step-Down unit floor that she was indeed leading a police transfer operation. The lady checked their credentials, encoded into their database in advance by George, and she called a doctor to join them shortly. ¡°Do you mind if my guys go ahead and start getting the prisoner ready? It¡¯s kind of urgent¡± Darlene explained. ¡°Stay with Darlene¡± Hobbes whispered to Ivan ¡°What why?¡± ¡°I have the feeling that we are going to have a crowd gathering here¡± ¡°A prisoner?¡± the secretary at the desk was shocked, her eyes as wide as a paella casserole while she lazily hung the telephone receptor at her neck, her finger hanging above the last digit that she was going to dial. As Hobbes and George walked away from the reception, he heard Darlene¡¯s perfectly well-tuned response, ¡°Yes, the individual you have here, although I am afraid I cannot divulge the details, is actually under arrest at the moment and we are very grateful that you and your team blablabla¡­¡± Hobbes stepped swiftly into Barry¡¯s room without ceremony. Barry, that little shit, was not handling things well. Wishing to lead his interrogators on the wrong tracks, he had said that he believed he had survived a car crash ¨Cgood¡ª but also that the prime minister of his country of residence was named Crisjen Avasarala. Eugenie White had attempted to explain to him who that fictional character was from an obscure book series, some space opera, but Hobbes couldn¡¯t force himself to give a shit. Barry was a moron, period. ¡°Is it Dune?¡± George had asked during the ride to the clinic. Inside the van, Hobbes had been stunned at the advanced state of tidiness and repair he witnessed on the urban landscape outside the window compared to a few days before. Humans were like those constantly resilient, usually reactive, never-so-proactive, creatures of rush and scramble, affairing themselves to clean and fix as fast as possible, and pressing collective memory to forget about destruction and death. It was arduous to believe that the street had been this tunnel of wildfire and poisonous air one week ago. ¡°Close enough, it¡¯s from The Expanse¡± Eugenie had replied ¡°You know what book always made me think it could be a good prequel to the Expanse?¡± ¡°You¡¯d have to go back to our¡­ our present times, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Totally¡± George had paused before his reveal, ¡°it was the Parable of the Sower¡± Eugenie had shaken her head in admiration, ¡°that is true¡± she said dreamily ¡°I thought you would say anything by Kim Stanley Robinson¡± ¡°Not bad either, Darlene. Somewhere between too¡± ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Red Mars, Blue Mars and so on, I¡¯m talking about one of his more kukoo-nuts books, 2312¡± ¡°Ministry of the future could go hand in hand with Octavia Butler¡± ¡°Nerd alert¡± Marlene had joked. Being the most intelligent woman on the planet, human jokes still continually proved a challenge for her, and she never stopped learning them the wrong way, delivering them in an offensive manner when she meant to be supportive, and complimenting people with accidental insults. ¡°Everyone shut the fuck up¡± Hobbes had put an end to this nonsense. Presently, he closed the door of Barry¡¯s room behind him and turned around, ¡°ah, Masquevert, you¡¯re awake, that¡¯s good¡± He didn¡¯t bother himself with sounding compassionate or encouraging ¨Cthat was Marlene¡¯s job. They didn¡¯t have to be best friends to cooperate and make his goal their mutual goal, on this day. And yet he hesitated, after one step. The boy was staring at him stone-faced, his eyes bulging in the middle of his face, in the middle of the huge pillow around his head that seemed to swallow it. Hobbes was stricken: he looked way worse than he had thought. ¡°Masquevert¡± Hobbes repeated, patted the top of his skull like a little chinchilla. Barry squinted, ¡°Hobbes?¡± Hobbes had almost forgotten he was there under guise, nodded, ¡°you¡¯re alright, buddy?¡± ¡°No¡± Barry said Thankfully, it was Robortor¡¯s turn to enter the room, and George made sure to adjust the vertical blinds of the window separating them from the main hallway so as to increase their privacy while maintaining an eye on what was going on on the other side with Darlene and Ivan. Through the slits, Hobbes saw a young nurse bring a smoking cup of coffee to Ivan. Then without moving the top part of his body, George did a little dance with his feet, skipping and mixing chass¨¦ and heel turns, and he approached the bed as a conqueror, ¡°my frieend, finally, we are reunited¡± he squealed, removed Hobbes¡¯ hand from Barry¡¯s greasy hair and grabbed his cheeks like a grandmother would a child she has not seen since last holiday, ¡°my friend, my friend, listen closely, you pull out a thing like that again¡ª¡± Barry smiled at him, it was a faraway smile, dug from sleep, coming to the surface with eagerness, and some feeble light returned to this eyes, ¡°yeah that was p pretty sttupid¡± Hobbes repressed a dramatic slow clap at the sound of that, pretended to inspect all the instruments that Barry was attached to through multicolored tubes of various sizes and thicknesses. In a way he looked like the bombs in the movies, which the protagonist has to disarm by picking the right color of wire to cut.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Here, drink your water¡± George seized the little plastic cup from the night table on the side of the bed and poked the straw into Barry¡¯s mouth. The uniform on George¡¯s big metal arms was too tight, threatening to burst, while Barry¡¯s head at the end of the straw was rendered very small in the middle of all the white of his pillow. Hobbes pressed the button that lifted the top part of Barry¡¯s bed while the boy dutifully sucked on the water, ¡°would you believe that¡± George asked, ¡°plastic cup and plastic straw, today! Man, do those people not care about the oceans and saving the turtles?¡± ¡°Thanks George¡± Barry said. ¡°Can you move a bit, like, are you able to walk?¡± Hobbes asked Barry looked at him as though he had asked him if he could materialize a second nose at the center of his face, ¡°walk?¡± ¡°How is your pain?¡± ¡°It is very high¡± ¡°Well, first thing we are going to do is load you with lots of drugs. Coming through¡± Hobbes switched another clasp on the main controller of the machines around the bed, releasing a shit ton of morphine into Barry¡¯s veins. George¡¯s smile was cheeky, ¡°yummy¡± and Barry¡¯s face produced a little spasm before he closed his eyes, missing the massive thumb George was sticking out of his massive hand. Eyes shut and his breathing suspended, Masquevert¡¯s face seemed to relax all of a sudden. A bit of pink drizzled on the top of his cheeks, as if dropping from the ceiling. ¡°We are here uh¡­ to collect you¡± Hobbes explained. Silence. A small bleep from another device, this one wasn¡¯t linked to Barry and had been abandoned in the corner of the room. George raised his eyebrows favorably, as if they were going on a big adventure. ¡°How the f f fuck are you gonna¡ª" ¡°We have a plan¡± Hobbes said, ¡°and oh! Here she is¡± Drumrolls. Eugenie White was the last to join their party, slamming the door behind her. Now, all bets were off. ¡°Eugenie¡± George scolded, ¡°the door!¡± ¡°Sorry¡± she apologized, distracted. She was a mess, the belt of her jail uniform crooked, one shoulder maladjusted, her hair unkempt in a messy loose bun. A badge on her breast said nurse. Barry¡¯s eyes, his bed lifted at a forty-five degree angle, fell on her, ¡°good afternoon¡± she panted, ¡°Barry you¡¯re alright?¡± she asked the same question as Hobbes had. ¡°Yeah¡± she received a very different answer, ¡°Oel ngati kameie¡± ¡°What¡¯s he saying? Is it code for something?" Eugenie chuckled horribly, ¡°nothing George, he¡¯s high, obviously¡± Hobbes knew that, at this moment of the plan, they had to rush, but he couldn¡¯t help watching. Barry¡¯s eyes and White¡¯s meeting was fire, and the only reason the boy didn¡¯t notice the wheelchair she was pushing right away. They appeared to always have to engage in an extensive eyelock every time they met again, and it was weird. Disgusting, Hobbes thought, so he gestured toward the wheelchair, ¡°this, you see, is your way out¡± For an instant, the air was sucked out of the room everyone waiting in anticipation of Barry¡¯s reaction, which was just what everyone had anticipated, ¡°oh nonono¡± he said. His face was very alert now, following the relief the painkillers had delivered and scattered through his body, ¡°I¡¯m not going on this thing¡± so Hobbes sighed loudly, squatted next to Barry in the position of a statue of serenity, tapped the metal bar to direct the boy¡¯s attention. ¡°Listen, you little shit. You fucked up when you said the Prime Minister in the dimension where you live is a stupid science fiction character from a book. One thing was the car accident, and you did very well, GOLD STAR¡± ¡°Oh wait, n¡ª¡± Eugenie White tried to interject, but Hobbes wasn¡¯t going to let her ¡°But then, you ruined it, so now, you have to suck it up, because otherwise, this room will soon be so guarded we won¡¯t be able to break you out of here¡± He saw that Barry was following his words with his head swinging like a pendulum, ¡°no, you listen¡± he sniffled loudly, his nostrils flaring in anger, ¡°I would not be here if you hadn¡¯t ejected Eugenie White in the sky when you knocked over the wagon and¡ª¡± ¡°Here, progress!¡± Hobbes stood up ¡°you¡¯re already better I see, forming complete sentences. Whole paragraphs of them!¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± ¡°Barry¡± Eugenie White spoke softly, ¡°Hobbes is right. In the chair¡± ¡°Damn¡± George muttered ¡°It looks painful¡± Barry countered ¡°It probably is¡± Eugenie¡¯s hands let go off the chair¡¯s handles to juggle some invisible soda cans in the air ¡°Why can¡¯t Marlene fly me out of the window¡± ¡°In this weather? The turbulence would be even more painful¡± ¡°How many times must I say it¡± Hobbes fumed, ¡°no attracting attention to the Team¡± In an avid desire to take his power back, he signaled the beginning of action to the others. Robotiko nodded decidedly and hurried to get rid of the big comforter that covered Barry, rolling it precociously and revealing Barry¡¯s pajama pants, snowflake patterns. ¡°You guys are crazy¡± Barry¡¯s breath was wheezing ¡°it is¡± he closed his eyes again, stuttering, ¡° c c cold wait¡­ are those snowfl¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to go well¡± Eugenie White said, ¡°you are in good hands¡± That¡¯s a lie, Hobbes thought. They all took an irrepressible second, Barry included, to admire the artwork of intricate mix of dressings and taped compresses all over Barry¡¯s upper body. In addition to the damage he had suffered from the shooting, there was a long gash in the middle of his rib cage. ¡°Wow¡± George mouthed, and Barry sulked, saddened, distraught. Some globules of sweat appeared on his forehead. He started hyperventilating. ¡°Let¡¯s do it¡± Eugenie snapped out of it, sensing danger. She was a teacher, and she seemed to feel the risk of dispersion of the group, ¡°you know what this is¡± she waved a roll of iridescent strips in front of Barry¡¯s nose ¡°I don¡¯t think I cc ccan do this.¡± ¡°Shhh, Barry be quiet. Do you know what this is? No way to guess where Alphonse got it but this is a roll of foam bandages, super comfortable and malleable. They¡¯re usually employed on horses and cattle, sometimes buffaloes¡± She sounded like the bandage company had hired her for a commercial. Although he was a Black man, George¡¯s face was becoming paler and paler. ¡°Buffaloes?¡± ¡°They have been utilized once or twice on giraffes¡± ¡°I don¡¯t underst¡ª" ¡°You see¡±, Eugenie White continued, ¡°here I worry about the deep incision on your chest. Also, some of your ribs have been pulverized and I don¡¯t want them to float around freely and poke through your lungs¡± and Barry looked down at himself again, losing hope, but Eugenie grabbed his chin and re-positioned it so he would face her, ¡°the move will not be gentle, we just have to make sure you don¡¯t crack open like a¡ª¡± she looked like she regretted her graphic choice of words and was searching for something that would make up for them. ¡°Like an egg?¡± Barry was on the verge of tears ¡°Noo¡± she chuckled, ¡°like a little door. Like a little loaf of br¡ª¡± ¡°What do you mean pulverized?¡± he asked Great, just great, Hobbes was irritated. Wasn¡¯t there a nurse, a doctor, who had informed the boy about the extent of the destruction to his body? Barry looked completely taken aback. Fortunately, Eugenie White wasn¡¯t about to waste time with that ¡°Got it?¡± she said ¡°Then let¡¯s sit on the side of the bed, Hobbes and George, help me. George, grab his feet¡± ¡°Sit???¡± Barry choked on the words, ¡°no please, please!¡± He begged, but Hobbes noticed that Eugenie had become indifferent to his distress. That was funny to witness. Following her determined lead, the two men took a hold of Barry¡¯s shoulders and pushed them up while George, gifted with strength as much as nimbleness, smoothly tugged at the boy¡¯s socks. In the blink of an eye, he was indeed sitting on the side of the bed. The rapidity of the move forbade any reaction on the part of Barry but, suddenly, the upright position in which he was forced seemed to catch up with him and he lost his breath, folded forward in a low grunt similar to a very unhappy cat awaken from a nap. The air exploded out of his mouth with a flow of vomit, a watery melange that landed on George¡¯s vest and legs. As George recoiled in horror, Barry¡¯s feet fell hard against the metal of the bed, ¡°George, get control here!¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay¡± Eugenie said softly. Hobbes was incredulous at the amateur level of his Team and with more bewilderment reaching his heart, he saw George crawl to bend over the little trash can under the sink of the room and retch something much more substantial than the content of Barry¡¯s stomach. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, George¡± Hobbes was at a loss for words. I work with children, toddlers. ¡°I a a apologi¡ª¡± Barry held himself with both hands and spat out one last drop ¡°I¡¯m sorry boss¡± George whined miserably, trying to get rid of the gooey liquid on his shirt, ¡°I can¡¯t stand the sight of vomit¡± He wiped his mouth and a tear that had escaped on his cheek, ¡°Oh Lord¡± he whined. Hobbes glanced outside the little window of the room with anxiety rising high, worrying someone had heard their commotion, but he only saw Darlene, one hand on her waist, charmingly running a hand through her lustrous red hair, still talking to the nurse in charge, now joined by a doctor in scrubs, all laughing at something hilarious. Another nurse came by their gathering and handed a cube of sugar to Ivan for his beverage. They are hanging out outside, drinking coffee, while I¡¯m dealing with this shit. I can¡¯t believe those wankers. ¡°George¡± Hobbes shouted, ¡°your turn¡± and he handed Barry¡¯s shoulder to Hobbes. The boy was shivering, his teeth producing some little clicking and rattling songs inside his mouth. ¡°I know you are cold¡± Eugenie White said, ¡°but I have to wrap you up like this before we put some clothes on you. Hobbes, please, turn up the heat¡± and Hobbes did what he was asked, pleasantly intrigued by Eugenie White, a usually moody and useless specimen, and her being unphased. At least she wasn¡¯t vomiting or arguing or getting distracted by the mission. She unrolled the thick tape and threw one end to George, who was still frowning and swallowing hard from his puke episode, repressing another gag, ¡°I feel terrible about that George¡± Barry whispered, his eyes closed in torment. ¡°No problem my friend¡± George said, ¡°now, be strong.¡± ¡°Be strong w why?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s gonna suck¡± ¡°George!¡± ¡°Let¡¯s pick up the pace here, everyone¡± Hobbes intervened, ¡°Darlene is not going to be able to keep these people out of the room forever¡± The work on Barry Masquevert¡¯s chest was beyond horrifying, some viscous blood mixed with some yellowish disinfectant oozing through the patches of gauze that were covering him. In any case and prioritizing efficiency over mercy, Eugenie White kept pushing her fingers on her end of the tape against Barry, received another end from George, snatched it mid-flight, and continued rolling the boy like a roast. Barry was finally sucking it up like Hobbes had instructed, his head down, his breath whistling like a tea kettle at his lips, expelling drops of drools. He was trembling from the cold temperature on his bare skin while sweating profusely. ¡°aiille Eugenie f f for fucksakes¡± ¡°Sorry¡± she said, but she didn¡¯t seem sorry. Hobbes barely recognized her, although he had heard the same resolve in her voice when she had been barking her orders at him in Alphonse¡¯s phone at the back of his van. She was entirely focused and her movements were flowing as though her hands were an extension of her brain ¡°almost finished, just hang on¡± To everyone¡¯s surprise, she produced a mini stapler from her hanging pack and shoved in under the tight roll she had used to turn Barry into a mummy, ¡°Jesus¡± the boy¡¯s eyes popped out of his face as she stapled her work secured, and when she was through with that part, she released him from her grip and he leaned forward, his hands clenched in fists. Two pearls of tears dropped from his eyes at the same time, landing on the snowflakes pattern of his trousers, dissolving into the fabric. ¡°Are you sure¡ª¡± Hobbes asked, but Eugenie White darted him a look that convinced him there wasn¡¯t going to be any feedback allowed about her work, ¡°no, it looks great, let¡¯s move on then¡± ¡°I can¡¯t breathe¡± Barry said, his eyes still closed, a line of saliva dangling from his mouth. Eugenie White brushed it with her own fingers which she dried on the front of her uniform ¡°breathe with your belly Barry, come on. You can unplug him now¡± she indicated to Hobbes. A bit flabbergasted by the episode of torture he had just been audience too, Hobbes executed the order and, with a new softness, he took care of the screen and removed the little IV on Barry¡¯s hand, discarded it inside the trash bin from where the smell of George¡¯s vomit was starting to expand in the room, ¡°that¡¯s probably good that you can¡¯t breathe¡± Hobbes found himself having a disconcerting breach of humour. He rubbed Barry¡¯s shoulder with more genuine encouragement, this time, ¡°you¡¯re doing well, Masquevert¡± ¡°Wow, queen of rolling¡± George took a moment to high five Eugenie White and Barry took the same moment to look murderously at the both of them. ¡°Don¡¯t let the fat lady sing just yet¡± Hobbes opened the sports bag they were carrying on the bed, intending to move on to the wardrobe part of the mission. He noticed his fingers were trembling slightly above the Velcro hoop-and-loop. ¡°W what fat lady¡± ¡°It¡¯s an expression, Masquevert, oh shit¡± Hobbes¡¯s hands froze in the air with the two sleeves of the hoodie, ¡°you said to pack a zipper, Eugenie White, I guess¡­ this sweater doesn¡¯t open in the front¡± ¡°Does that mean w wwe abort?¡± Barry asked. ¡°We¡¯ll make do, don¡¯t worry¡± Eugenie White wasn¡¯t going to be troubled by a zipper issue ¡°George, be ready to slide Barry¡¯s head into the neck part at my signal¡± ¡°I hate¡­ all of you¡± Barry hissed. Hobbes wasn¡¯t sure what to do with the boy¡¯s right arm, the one where he had been shot between the wrist and the elbow, but White seemed to be reading his thoughts, ¡°just shove it inside the sleeve, Hobbes, we are going to run out of time¡± Hobbes threw a side glance at the exterior of the room where everyone still appeared to have a splendid social time, ¡°I think for now we haven¡¯t drawn any negative attention¡± he opposed ¡°I¡¯m talking about Barry, at some point, he¡¯s going to be out of juice¡± She massaged his fingers inside her hand, smile at him tenderly, like she had put her all-business persona on pause, ¡°you¡¯re hanging on, right? You still beat me at arm wrestle, right?¡± ¡°Fuck¡­ you¡± ¡°Right. Now, your head, bring your little head into the hole¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think¡ª¡± Hobbes hesitated ¡°Do it. George?¡± ¡°I got the feet Eugenie¡±, George responded and, as they were pushing Barry¡¯s head through the collar of the shirt, George worked on Barry¡¯s trousers. It was like making a Christmas tree, until Barry¡¯s knee jerked high and his foot hit George in the face. Robortor fell on his butt holding his nose, ¡°fuuck! Can''t you cooperate a li little bit here, Barry?¡± Some blood spurted from his nostrils and mouth, and Barry¡¯s emerging head from his shirt was awestruck and horrified ¡°fuck, George, I¡¯m so sorry. I am very t t ticklish, I¡¯m¡ª¡± ¡°Hmmmm my nose, motherfucker¡± George got on his knees and snatched a paper towel from the dispenser next to the sink, ¡°my no-ose¡± ¡°Let me look at your nose¡± Eugenie White said, using the tissue as a sponge, she tapped it on George¡¯s nose, ¡°well, he just hit you in the nose¡± she confirmed, ¡°you¡¯re alright, just stick this into your nostril and tilt your head back¡± Hobbes was having the second most frustrating day of his Team leader career, after the one during which one of his concocted takes on action had caused the launch of Eugenie White in the air and triggered the Bolt, an elite member of his group, to come at her rescue and take in three bullets. I work with clowns. I work in a Kindergarten. This is a circus. I don¡¯t want to be here. I really don¡¯t. ¡°I¡¯m soo sorry¡± Barry said again. ¡°It¡¯s all good, my little friend¡± George inserted another tissue in his second nostrils, looked at the button-up shirt under his vest, covered in blood, ¡°you¡¯re just uh very difficult to uh¡­ extract, that¡¯s all¡± After another eternity and another Olympic sport which was to get Barry Masquevert up and then down again, sitting on the chair, Hobbes whipped out the handcuffs from his inside pocket and locked one of them to the arm of the chair, the other one on Barry¡¯s left wrist, ¡°you¡¯re going to cuff me?¡± ¡°You are technically¡± Hobbes explained, ¡°our detainee. You have to play the part, you hear me? Say nothing, think nothing, just fall asleep inside your head, you hear me?¡± Everyone seemed in agreement of the relative simplicity of the next step of the plan and they finally exited the room. Most of Eugenie White¡¯s hair was gone from her bun and Hobbes felt disheveled too, although his own hair was nicely tucked under the bald cap he was wearing. He threw an eye at George. George¡­ Well. He hoped everything would just fly. ¡°So we are good, officer?¡± Hobbes faced Darlene as she turned around and shrunk away at the sight of George, ¡°oh my god, what happened? Did the¡­ prisoner try to resist arrest?¡± she asked. George shook his head, his nose all swollen, ¡°it¡¯s a long story¡± he replied, ¡°but now, everything is fine¡± Darlene¡¯s reproach directed itself in the direction of Hobbes, something furious dancing at the bottom of her vivid eyes, What took you so long? He could almost hear. She looked like a little fox. ¡°The detainee is secured¡± he affirmed, feeling very tired. ¡°Do you want me to take a look at you?¡± the doctor proposed to George. ¡°No, he is okay¡± Hobbes replied, handling the wheelchair to Eugenie White and starting to pace forward. Then the man in scrubs, with his mask under his chin, gazed down at Barry, uncertain. Barry¡¯s face was melting in sweat, his eyelids fluttering like the wings of a moth. ¡°Should I just¡­ check the prisoner¡¯s vitals?¡± Darlene was looking at Barry in the same concern manner, mused, ¡°I mean¡ª¡± ¡°NO¡± Eugenie White elbowed her discreetly ¡°NO I mean no, don¡¯t worry, we have our own medical staff¡± Darlene reassured the doctor ¡°So he is a criminal after all¡± the man squinted his eyes at Barry, hands in his pockets, operating in another parallel universe where the urgency of the group in front of him didn¡¯t touch him, then he shook his head at the sight of the handcuffs, talking about the boy as if he were not present, ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m stunned, given the sort of injuries he sustained. I would be for gangs, yes, probably gangs¡± ¡°Yes, you guys did a great job keeping him alive¡± Hobbes landed a firm hand in Eugenie White¡¯s back, pushing her politely into the stroll. Hoping to bring along the others, speedily, he spun on his heels, ¡°now, thanks to you, justice will be served¡± No less! The doctor got the message and offered a rushed hand to Darlene, a constipated smile of greeting goodbye to Ivan, still busy sipping his coffee, and a general wave to the rest of the gathering, as they were finally darting out. ¡°Barry doesn¡¯t look so good¡± Darlene observed, catching up with Eugenie White, her hair flowing behind her, ¡°is he okay?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± Eugenie replied, pushing the chair energetically, ¡°we have to be quick now¡± They reached the waiting spot for the elevator and Hobbes pressed the calling key ten or twelve times, the panic and trepidation now contagious ¡°enjoying your hot beverage, Ivan?¡± ¡°It¡¯s shit, Boss¡± Ivan lied, ¡°it¡¯s from a coffee machine down the hall. Please don¡¯t tell Alphonse¡± ¡°I feel really weird¡± Hobbes heard from Barry, a mutter ¡°What?¡± Eugenie thrusted the wheelchair inside the elevator booth as though she was going to run with it until she and Barry took off from the ground. ¡°He says he¡¯s feeling weird¡± Ivan said ¡°I know, just--¡± ¡°Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be drugged?¡± Darlene asked ¡°Yes, but all the painkillers are running out now that we took away his IV¡± ¡®You¡¯ve got to be kidd¡ª¡± ¡°Try to have a nap, Barry¡± said White, running her hand on her animated eyebrows to get rid of the perspiration. Going down the entrails of the building felt like an endless journey with Barry slumping lower and lower on his chair. The doors opened automatically halfway to their final stop, revealing a pair of hospital visitors with flowers in their arms, one gigantic octopus push toy and balloons, waiting enthusiastically for a ride up. On the balloon, the words were bouncing: It¡¯s a Girl! ¡°Sorry guys¡± Eugenie White yelped and pushed the closing button on the commands, shutting the door in front of the strangers¡¯ faces ¡°That¡¯s cold¡± George chuckled, holding on to the tissues in his nostrils ¡°What happened to your face?¡± Ivan asked, chugging the rest of his coffee ¡°Barry kicked me¡± ¡°He did what?¡± ¡°With his foot, right in my nose¡± ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you, Barry?¡± ¡°Go f f fuck yourself¡± Barry replied. ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡± ¡°It¡¯s vomit, Ivan¡± ¡°Everyone, keep focused!¡± Hobbes ordered, and silence accompanied them on the last chunk of the trip down. A nice little cozy bell rang. PART 4: Ten tables (3) The tables are turning Eugenie placed herself at the threshold of Barry¡¯s little room and watched him for ten minutes without him noticing. He had unclasped the sling off his right arm and discarded it half fallen on the side of the bed and was now slowly solving a Rubik''s cube, his hands resting on the comforter on his lap and his fingers moving in a slow but determined process. Some clicks and claps punctuated his patient work. There was a barely touched cup of apple sauce sitting on the night table with a spoon sticking out of it. The rain was gently falling against the window, the night having presently swallowed the day, and it was difficult to imagine that outside, the world was in turmoil. This invasion from the mrai moumous was tremendous, and they were producing flock after flock of attackers from the rim at the bottom of the Great Lakes. Easy rebuffed, yes, but persistent, and testing out the human defenses in front of them. But here, in Hobbes Lab, the worries of the other side were kept at bay. A vague panic was tugging at Eugenie¡¯s heart, maintained at a distance as well, and her index finger was itchy, which happened to her when she had a lot of unreleased tears or when she was on the verge of losing her marbles. None of those phenomena was announcing themselves elsewhere, so she wasn¡¯t sure. Eugenie almost wished Barry wasn¡¯t so resilient so he gave her more time to rest, would she be the baby sitter of a newborn infant who would never nap. He had been gunned down just ten days before, and switched to half less a dose of drugs for a fortnight only, and he was already pretty awake and responsive. In the longer run, it would be a strenuous task to control him and convince him to chill, which was the reason Eugenie suspected Alphonse had been so adamant about moving her into the headquarters. Now, it was her shelter. Now, Barry was once more her responsibility. She sighed. She wished she had a cigarette but she hadn¡¯t thought about buying a pack on the way back to the Lab. ¡°Don¡¯t you think Barry looks like that guy parading in his underwear in the movie John Carter?¡± Darlene had asked her. ¡°Wow, I am not familiar at all with this reference, regretfully¡± She had answered. ¡°It¡¯s a movie that happens on Mars or something, with orange people¡± She couldn¡¯t let her mind continue to roam free and her index finger continue to itch this way, aimlessly, hungrily, so she readied herself and asked, ¡°Barry, you¡¯re alright?¡± Barry got spooked and his shoulders jumped, then he swiftly snatched the sling off the bed and dropped it on to the floor, ¡°yeah I was j just thinking¡± where the thing made a little mound, color blending with the hue of the linoleum ¡°that I don¡¯t need that thing¡± She smiled, ¡°really?¡± ¡°Really, it¡¯s not my style. You were s s spying on me?¡± ¡°No¡° she lied, ¡°that would be so creepy¡± he stared at her without words, waiting for her to explain what she was doing in his room, ¡°are you busy?¡± ¡°Yeah obviously¡± Barry closed his eyes and grinned feebly, ¡°did you want to hang out?¡± She thought about asking him if he knew of any untold smoking spot, but she guessed she was now living in a tobacco-free zone or, even worse, the spot on earth where smoking would be diabolized, so she just pulled a stool next to Barry¡¯s bed and sat on it, ¡°this place is big¡± she said, ¡°and intimidating.¡± That was an understatement. Hobbes Lab was an ancient scientific testing station with its ground level kissing the side of a steep hill in the state park of Toferky Run, a rocky descent that merged into a dull valley opening on to a landscape of snow and prairie grass with more mountains in the distance. In a swerving line rather than a bulk, the opening floor was a large and imposing hallway of a hundred meter with nothing but lockers inserted inside the concrete, standing like an army of steel one after the other, docile soldiers. The rest was a drop of stories down into the earth, around a serpentine set of stairs that seemed to dig into the underworld itself. God only knew what Hobbes had built on each of these dark and grey levels. But halfway between the surface and the core of the planet, on the fourth sub-level, he had carved some cozy living spaces which could accommodate at least thirty people, although the team was only a dozen people strong, including, presently, Eugenie or, as Alphonse had nicknamed her in a tone that suggested either despise or endearment ¨Cno one would ever know¡ª, la pi¨¨ce rapport¨¦e. ¡°You like it?¡± ¡°Well as long as¡ª¡± ¡°What?¡± Barry was drained now, at the end of a second full day without morphine, and his words were already slurred , ¡°there¡¯s s s something bothering you I¡­ can tell¡± ¡°No!¡± she didn¡¯t want to show herself ungrateful, so she rushed, ¡°I am very glad I can stay here, in this uh¡­ mansion¡± she raised her palms to the ceiling in wonder, ¡°especially with my cat. I just didn¡¯t know Alphonse owned so many cat toys¡± ¡°You know what¡± he closed his eyes, reopened them, ¡°Alphonse¡¯s first calling after his military career was opening a cat caf¨¦¡± ¡°Does he smoke? Like another one of his¡­ things I didn¡¯t know about¡± ¡°Negative¡± ¡°Well¡± there goes that, ¡°my studio is very beautiful¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Marlene decorated everything here after Daphne died¡± ¡°I had a feeling¡± Eugenie scratched her finger, eyeing the apple sauce next to the side lamp. She suddenly had so many needs. ¡°It has a Greek vibe. A Mykonos vibe¡± ¡°Where is it?¡± ¡°Mykonos?¡± Geography teacher, she heard from nowhere in particular. Barry sniffed loudly, ¡°noh, your studio¡± Eugenie had to think for a second, as she had traveled down the endless corridor of the base only twice and attempted to remember all the arrows and signs, ¡°just under here, I think, like, in the corner of the building, the one stuck under the gigantic mountain¡± It was a marvel of minimalism, brutalism and hygge all at once. ¡°I want to see it¡± ¡°What, now?¡± Barry nodded, ¡°Barry no, doctor said no moving¡± ¡°You know that Alphonse is not a real doctor, right¡± ¡°It¡¯s common sense¡± ¡°That¡¯s just something doctors say, even if you go to like, the dentist¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think dentists say that¡± ¡°That¡¯s just some¡­¡± It was interesting to see how easily Barry could slide back into his old high school ass character and how fond he was still of that guy after all these years. Eugenie remained unperturbed only because she had a lot of experience, ¡°some story¡± ¡°We¡¯ll go tomorrow¡± she found a carrot at the end of her stick. She knew he didn¡¯t mean to go on a stroll at the moment as his energy was still at the depletion level; instead, he was just being a smart-ass, ¡°besides, my cat¡¯s sleeping right now, he had a big day¡± Before he could get more creative, she changed topics to her initial subject of interest, ¡°I¡¯m just worried, I suppose, that¡­ I feel like I could become hired by the Team, like, accidentally, I mean¡± ¡°Hired as what?¡± Entertainment, she thought. ¡°A liability, maybe?¡± Barry frowned like it was the most absurd thing on Earth, rolled a screw from his cube between his fingers like a cigarette, which, once more, reminded Eugenie that she craved one, ¡°everyone loves you here, except Hobbes, ¡®cause Hobbes hates most people. We know you have your uh¡­ life and everything but right now we need to make sure as many people as possible are safe¡± What a way he had to use language to make it seem like he was saying something, while he was actually not saying anything at all. She had witnessed the birth and blossom of that skill in him, at a younger age. What many people was he talking about? ¡°Ngati oel munge soaiane¡± ¡°Hum?¡± ¡°Ngati oel munge soaiane¡± Barry repeated, ¡°it means, I brought you into the family, in Navi¡¯¡± ¡°in Navi¡¯?¡± ¡°It¡¯s from a song in Avatar 2¡± ¡°There is an Avatar 2 movie? Wait, you never validate that my mother tongue is Swedish but you had the time to learn Nav--¡± "Shhh" They both looked at the window, both in their different worlds of thoughts, absorbed by very opposing concerns. It was a trompe-l¡¯oeil window, or it had been an actual window before Hobbes declared that the tower would be dug into the earth and shoved into a fucking mountain. From the surface, some water was seeping in long streaks against the glass, undulating as if under a spell, slowly-slowly. It could become entrancing, and Eugenie saw the memory pop inside her skull of the fortune teller¡¯s message, ¡®total surrender¡¯ she had said above her card spread. There was a still life painting of an apricot in the sunset behind the woman, that Eugenie couldn¡¯t forget, something unique and powerful. ¡°As long as I can move back to my flat whenever I uh¡­ wish¡± she said. It was undoubtedly very difficult for Barry to give a damn about that preoccupation of hers, but he nodded with determination, ¡°of course, but not now, ¡®cause things are sticky, out there. Give it just a month, alr¡ª¡± ¡°A month?¡± It was Eugenie¡¯s turn to jump on her seat, ¡°I was thinking, perhaps a week or something¡± ¡°Eugenie, t t t¡± Barry lifted his left hand to seize hers but he missed, he was still too slow. She thought about humoring him and letting him catch it next time, to reassure him, like people do with cats and the red laser dot or with small children at TicTac Toe. ¡°I understand that you p p prefer your life to be announced to you in advance like, officially, but¡ª¡± ¡°Actually, I wouldn¡¯t have said it better¡± He nodded, went on, ¡°but right now, it¡¯s one day at a time¡± He was speaking to her the same manner she had addressed him and the slowest students of her lessons, ¡°you need to relax, everything is alright, here, no deci¡ª¡± he sighed, exhausted, ¡°deci¡ª" ¡°Decisions, yes¡± ¡°Thank you¡ª need to be made immediately¡± ¡°Okay¡± She watched him draw a deep breath and retrieve the energy he needed to continue his discourse, ¡°we will make the most of it, I will sh show you around, I will sh show you the trap doors, we will go to the surface and scout, there is a particular triangle spot, I know you are a big fan of triang¡ª¡± ¡°Trap d¡ª Oh my god, you are loving this! Barry you¡¯re like, on a camping adventure, you¡¯re¡ª¡± she pretended to be surprised. Their hands met while hers was flapping around and his was just suspended shakily, waiting to grab something. His thumb rubbed her palm encouragingly, ¡°I try to¡­ al always see the bright side of things¡± Give up, just surrender, she fell into one of her and Barry¡¯s mysterious eyelocks. During those moments, time could spend itself without an end and without a tremor, without an eyelash batting. Their subconscious selves --or higher ones, or souls-- were speaking in another dimension, which they knew they could never see, but a dimension that beat in unison with the hearts and rolled around their necks like silk scarves, enveloped their limbs like a sweater or like a womb. They said to each other, ¡®you¡¯re fucking with me¡¯ and replied, ¡®yes, yes of course¡¯. They were speaking about things they couldn¡¯t comprehend in the real world, and Eugenie sought to put an end to it as soon as possible, so she mouthed a silent yes to Barry. ¡°Are you going to eat that?¡± she asked about his puree. ¡°That? You¡¯d eat that, wouldn¡¯t you¡± ¡°Yeah¡± she smiled faking embarrassment, and faking to fake a doubtful shame. Barry meant to reach for the little cup, but it was way too far, ¡°aiille, damnit, you know we have some real food, here¡± he shook his head to himself, ¡°you know we have some frozen pizza, we have sandw¡ª¡± She picked up the cup with exaggerated smoothness, ¡°don¡¯t stretch¡± she whispered, raising her eyebrows, before sitting back down, ¡°I just really like apple sauce¡± ¡°That¡¯s not apple sauce, that¡¯s¡ª¡± Barry grimaced, slid his hand under his arm to hold his chest together, ¡°just a bunch of fake fruits. Man, I feel like I¡¯ve been hit by a truck, you know?¡± She dug into the apples with the spoon, ¡°just bullets¡± she joked, chewing, watching him get offended. He just looked at her with theatrical disappointment. ¡°You can have this pleasantry for the next ten years, Eugenie. Hilarious!¡± ¡°Only if you survive that long!¡± ¡°Oh that might mean that I need to keep you around, in that case. ¡®Cause as soon as the exchange of fire starts, you just jump on me to shield me with your body¡± Now, Barry was really flying. ¡°I don¡¯t remember that¡± ¡°You don¡¯t remember what¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember any of that¡­ moment¡± she said, developed, as she saw he was stunned, ¡°it¡¯s not so abnormal, to have some kind of amnesia after an episode of that¡­ intensity¡± The apple in her mouth was sour, and the next was sweet. Barry was right, those were not real apples. ¡°By intensity you mean awesomeness¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that getting shot like a rabbit was awesome¡± she meant to trigger him. ¡°I¡¯m saying. You flattening me like a pancake to save my life was epic¡± She gulped the last apple, ¡°I don¡¯t remember it¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± she saw how distraught he suddenly seemed PART 4: Ten tables (4) The sacrificial table Alphonse¡¯s innovations were amazing. After a couple of days, Barry learned to appreciate it. For instance, the bed on which he was restricted, day and night, could create that little extension on the left side, another kind of sun chair on which he was able to slide and, once there, a flat surface that would fold gently, a humming sound filling his ears, into three parts: torso, butt, legs. It would nicely turn into a wheelchair on which he sat and drove around thanks to a controller, and which even had warming ass cushions, as Alphonse had added that small but significant detail. A week after the Team brought Barry back to the station, Eugenie White called every day to assess Alphonse¡¯s readiness as a nurse and, reassured each time by whomever was answering the telephone, she must have deemed the old man a skilled enough caretaker, and then she had totally bailed. George ¨CRobortor¡ª was a bit shocked, especially after the involvement that Eugenie White had had in the retrieval process, but Barry seemed to take it well, to understand her. ¡°Where the hell is your friend Eugenie White?¡± he asked Barry one morning. ¡°She has a job, some things¡± Barry replied His moods seemed to depend on the day and the part of the day, merry and bright at sunrise, more sullen at sundown. If no one was looking, it was easy to catch Barry staring absent-mindedly and at nothing in particular, opening and shutting the fingers of his right hand, as if he tried to accelerate the healing process of his forearm. He was a bit mummified on those instances, ¡°you should move, Masquevert, or you¡¯ll have to defrost¡± Alphonse said repeatedly. Overall, something known reappeared in their particular lives, his, a man half human half robot able to breech into all corners of all systems by the force of his mind, and the lives of the others, Marlene, Hobbes, Darlene, Ivan. Even Alphonse slid smoothly into the rhythm, tackling his endless to-do lists with some newly restored energy, alternating with his moments of care for Barry. George had texted Eugenie in the morning, hey girl, the message said, just saying, DINNER. You mean SUPPER she replied He was not sure she would attend. Some train lines were still out of order in the center of the city and he knew that she had recently parted with her car to invest further into her motor home. Darlene could pick Eugenie up with the chopper, but she would never accept to step into that thing. The sky was the less dangerous road to travel at the moment. Pockets of mrai moumous could be found under a rock, in the sewers, in discarded refrigerator boxes, in the darkest rooms of some hangars, roaring aimlessly, reacting to a sudden flash of light or animated conversations of humans stepping into the wrong spot at the wrong time. They had lost their mother ship, destroyed by Uberwoman. The way Uberwoman had plunged into the rotating spaceship from nowhere had resembled the way a peregrine falcon flattens its wings on the sides of its body before slashing through the air. The impact alone had obliterated the middle of the craft and then, scrambling, the aliens had tried to flee but, following the blow, they had had to face the rest of the Team. Victory was good, it felt good, George thought. He had a new suit, as well as Hobbes, able to distribute some mini cannon balls into enemy territory at the flip of a switch. It felt good to be praised again by the media after being ridiculed for disappearing on their Moon mission for an entire year. Before, during and presently, after that, he had gone on three dates Mustafa. George texted him next. He felt like there was something special about that man. First of all, he knew about George¡¯s secret identity, since he had been the one present during the accident that had turned him into Robortor and assisted Alphonse and Hobbes into saving his life as George. He was a visionary manipulator of code and technology, he saw invisible things beyond screens and interfaces and even beyond hard metals. In that way, one could say that they had known each other quite intimately for a long time, but George would have never dared asking Mustafa out. And then, Mustafa had gifted him a face mask, some months before, to cover the robotic half of his cheek and chin, and explained to him that this way, maybe they could and grab a bite together in public. It was a strange object to introduce him to, a simple facemask made of light fabric, two elastics for the ears and nothing fancier, contrasting with the usual bleeping and buzzing paraphernalia that Mustafa manipulated on a daily basis. George had never thought about that before. George was very familiar with the concept of dating from before his transformation and, back when he had followed that human tradition, he had deemed it quite dull and hypocritical. Getting in people¡¯s pants, that¡¯s what George was into, no matter their intellectual quotient or the agreeableness of their personalities but, with Mustafa, there was some magic in the air. All of a sudden, he loved to date! Possibly because he was wearing a disguise, dissimulating his true form in plain sight, no one batting an eye at their couple at the restaurant, at the movie theater, but also because Mustafa was an excellent dater. George wondered how someone could be such a nerd and able to solve such complex engineering problems in life while being so romantic and fun to be around. With Mustafa, he discovered that he enjoyed those silly things, sitting down in a cosy place, paying attention to the decoration, letting the music in the background carry the atmosphere. He enjoyed being face to face with that very handsome man, sharing a plate, tasting what he had ordered, pretending to know something about the smell and components of his glass of wine, watching Mustafa chew. And those other highlights that he was hungry for, a little joke here and there, their hands brushing against each other, or the way Mustafa was always pointing his fork at him when he talked about something that made him excited. He discovered that he liked walking back unhurriedly, to a car, instead of flying home with his integrated jet-pack, and not just walking, but promenading, taking the long way to the destination, decide to stop at a place and get ice cream, sit on a bench and watch people doing their thing, together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not, just feeling the warmth of Mustafa¡¯s company without having to touch him, their magnetic fields rubbing against each other and some desire emerged inside his belly, the tension building between them. Everything about dating Mustafa was making him want to date him more. He opted for a proper call, instead of a text and, while he listened to the ringing, his phone beeped, it was Eugenie, who was answering his message with another mention of the word supper. He would look at it later. He was feeling a bit nervous, the one human palm he possessed was sweaty, so he switched the device to his robotic hand. ¡°Mustafa! Is it a bad time?¡± Mustafa laughed at the end of the line: ¡°never for you, sweetie pie¡± ¡°Hey, you forget that I am a manly man¡± ¡°Yes sorry. What¡¯s going on George? George of the Jungle. George of the Manliness. Indiana George¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been busy, apologies for disappearing¡± ¡°I watch the news, don¡¯t worry¡± Mustafa said, ¡°at least I can keep track of where you are and how much ass you¡¯re kicking¡± ¡°Are you like turned on?¡± ¡°Of course¡± Mustafa replied, his words trailing off as he sounded distracted, and George was guessing he was currently multitasking, working on something, sticking the phone between his shoulder and his chin, typing on some keyboard, brushing on a screen. ¡°Well, it¡¯s kind of out of the blue but I¡¯m inviting you over for dinner with my Team and¡ª¡± Mustafa gasped ¡°oh no¡± ¡°What?¡± George¡¯s heart accelerated. Had he said something wrong? ¡°Like meeting your family, right?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve already met Hobbes¡± ¡°Which doesn¡¯t make me jump with joy about encountering the rest of the group¡± He hadn¡¯t seen it this way, and Hobbes would probably gag at the sound of the word family but they were all there tied up by that reality. To each other. The ones hiding their mutant identities struggled to make it in the real world, Darlene, Ivan, Barry. The others, the openly superable ones, lived isolated lives, overprotected, excessively buried in the forest or in the flank of a big rock. Family was in Hobbes¡¯ Lab. ¡°Hobbes is the only unpleasant one I promise¡± George thought about backing out of dinner too, as if was starting to feel even more nervous now that Mustafa was nervous, ¡°or we could skip it and go see that new sushi place¡± ¡°I really don¡¯t like raw fish¡± ¡°Or wherever really¡± ¡°I actually have somewhere I want to take you¡±, Mustafa said, ¡°but I can¡¯t tell you yet¡± George and was happy to be on the phone, and not face to face with Mustafa at the moment, grinning like a child who discovers a coin under their Tooth Fairy pillow, ¡°is it dangerous?¡± he asked. ¡°Maybe¡± ¡°Is it skydiving?¡± ¡°It is skydiving¡± Silence. George appreciated those quiet moments, where Mustafa and he were thinking, hearing what had just been said, imagining, knowing that the other was on the other side of the call. Just breathing together. Sometimes, he thought he might be in love. ¡°So¡­ what do you think of this evening?¡± he asked again. ¡°Uuugh, holy cow, I¡¯m in! What should I wear?¡± ¡°Your smile¡± ¡°Very funny, George! Help me out, I want to give a good impression! Where are you now?¡± ¡°At the station. I¡¯m in the mechanic workshop, in the basement. We are all here, like, we will have a meeting soon or whatever¡± ¡°Can you just give me some advice? So that I¡¯m not a complete mess.¡± George pondered the question, not sure where to start, ¡°hum. You won¡¯t be the only person without superpowers. We have Alphonse here, who is Hobbes¡¯ right hand-man, and also a lady who is a high school Geography teacher¡± ¡°What now?¡± ¡°Wait I think she works at a post office now¡± George tried to recall ¡°let¡¯s switch to Facetime¡± He put the device down against a box of tools and activated the camera. Mustafa appeared, his beautiful face, his baseball cap worn backwards, his beard thick. He was indeed doing something else at the same time, as he didn¡¯t look directly into the camera but waved distantly, and continued messing with another task which was producing some fluorescent lights. ¡°What are you working on?¡± George asked. ¡°I¡¯ll show you, habibi. You¡¯ll love it, it¡¯s just an interface, but I¡¯m tweaking it just a bit¡± ¡°Awesome. You want me to give you a virtual tour before you come over? So you are familiar with the place?¡± ¡°George, I don¡¯t give a fuck about Hobbes¡¯ mansion, just give me some basic information so I can prepare myself mentally. What did you say about having a high school Geography teacher at your little dinner?¡± ¡°Ah, that?¡± George scoffed, ¡°accidentally, we got her involved because she helped one of my coworkers, I mean friends, I mean¡± he refrained in front of the word sibling, no. No, Barry was not George¡¯s brother, he shook his head at his own thoughts. ¡°At some point she was helping my friend, like you helped Hobbes help me back in the day¡± Was Barry his little brother? He had to think about it. ¡°Interesting¡± ¡°And now she hangs out with us.¡± ¡°Really? And how is that going for her?¡± George paused, rewinding the steps that had led Eugenie White into their lives, the way she had had no choice but to remain attached to the Team up until recently. It had not been going that well for her, with her being desperate to separate from this action-packed existence where she didn¡¯t belong, and Hobbes being such a dick to her, hating to love her, loving to hate her. Therefor, George chose the short version: ¡°well, pretty good! She¡¯s alright, she fits in¡± That wasn¡¯t a lie; everyone liked Eugenie and Eugenie didn¡¯t execrate anyone, but she really wanted out. She might even decline his text-invitation, who knew. ¡°That¡¯s peculiar. Is she a journalist?¡± ¡°Mustafa, I¡¯m telling you, she is just a teacher, she is nice. All the people here are nice, except for Hobbes, but you already know that and you shouldn¡¯t care. The food will be out of this world, and there will be some serious booze.¡± Mustafa put a hand on his mouth to laugh, as if he was a shy Chinese girl, ¡°so dress code is casual?¡± The light of the current project he was working on, outside the frame of the camera, illuminated his perfect teeth. In the middle of his thick beard. They didn¡¯t flash lie crystals and they were not plasticky-looking like those of movie stars on red carpets, no, they were just very aligned and producing a warm and enticing smile. ¡°More than casual. Just wear whatever, you will look good no matter what¡± He saw Mustafa¡¯s eye granted him a glance ¡°because you think I¡¯m hot¡± ¡°Yes I do!¡± ¡°Can you just remind me who is who? So I don¡¯t come in and act like a guy who goes on a job interview¡± Mustafa pushed away his workstation, circled several times on his chair to move sideways along his desk and grabbed a pen and a paper. The journal he used had a cover that read Generational Trauma. ¡°Seriously? Who cares? I¡¯ll introduce you when you arrive. Just bring a nice bottle of bubbles if you want¡± He now had all of Mustafa¡¯s attention, and his eyes piercing through the camera, looking directly at him and nodding in insistance ¡°no, I know that, but I want a little reminder, if you don¡¯t mind. To you, they¡¯re just your friends but to normal people like me, it¡¯s like stepping into the Festival de Cannes¡± ¡°The Festiwhat?¡± He didn¡¯t let Mustafa answer, ¡°we are normal too by the way¡± but he dove into it, ¡°You have Marlene, now, be prepared¡± he said, ¡°she is drop-dead gorgeous¡± ¡°I know, I have seen her on TV. That¡¯s why she cannot have a double life, or she would be restricted to jobs such as supermodel or super uber-model, and be in the limelight constantly¡± ¡°Well you¡¯d be surprised, you know. She used to deliver the newspaper on her bicycle, back in the early twenties, she also worked in a coffee factory¡± ¡°Jesus Christ. I forgot that she cannot die¡± ¡°It¡¯s only useful to remember that information if you are planning to murder her¡± ¡°But anyway¡± Mustafa remarked, ¡°that was before social media¡± ¡°Right. Marlene is so nice, though, you would think, being so perfect and so acclaimed would have gotten to her head, but no. Also, you can speak Urdu with her. Or practice your Afrikaans¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Mustafa¡¯s pen wasn¡¯t taking any notes on strangely titled notebook anymore. He was hanging on to George¡¯s words, and George felt a tiny pinch of pride into his heart. ¡°She does speak a fuck load of languages¡± And then there were Darlene and Ivan. Mustafa seemed to breathe a little better after reviewing all members of the Team. They were indeed normal enough. ¡°There won¡¯t be any superpowers used the whole time, you don¡¯t have to worry about that¡± ¡°And then Alphonse?¡± Mustafa asked. ¡°Alphonse looks like he has a broom stuck up his ass but I¡¯m sure he will like you. I¡¯m going on a limp here but I am pretty sure he is homosexual like you and me¡± ¡°Honey, I am not gay, I¡¯m pan-sexual and you know that¡± ¡°I mean queer¡± ¡°And¡ª¡± Mustafa¡¯s eyes went to scan his notes, realized he had barely taken any ¡°you haven¡¯t told me about the Bolt. Is he nice too?¡± Ah yes, George thought, feeling a bit guilty. He had omitted Barry from his list, or, perhaps, had kept the best for the very end, ¡°Barry¡¯s nice, he¡¯s super nice, actually, he¡¯s my best mate here. But sometimes he can be a little weird.¡± Mustafa squinted his eyes, rested his head in his hand, waiting for details, ¡°what like, is in into you?¡± ¡°No-ho¡± George giggle, almost disgusted, ¡°he¡¯s just.. a younger guy, very impulsive, very burned headed. Remember that Caterpillar mission I told you about? Well, he got hurt there, like really hurt. He spent some time in a real hospital before we collected him back¡± ¡°Oh my god, like what?¡± George hesitated. He was never keen on bringing up the scary angles of his job, such as, what could one day happen to him with the career path he was on, getting shot at by bazookas, aimed at with explosives, drowned by a well positioned net over a large body of water, ¡°hm, he is fine now, but he got shot multiple times. He can move around in a wheelchair, I guess, but he still has to come a long way. Sometimes he can be pouting about it, that¡¯s all. Otherwise, he¡¯s very acceptable company¡± ¡°That sounds intense¡± ¡°Look¡­ I understand if it is too much for you, Mustafa. I tend to forget about the change of universe one has to go through to step into my world, but I think you¡¯ll like it¡± Mustafa nodded, his pen suspended above his paper, ¡°so, what do I write about Barry?¡± he asked. And George wasn¡¯t sure what to answer. ¡°I hope the traffic wasn¡¯t too dense¡± George winked at Mustafa as he stepped into the entrance hall with the high ceiling. He was already being cheeky, because he had just had a shot of Tequila. He almost never drank alcohol but he had been jittery all day and his nerves were bottling, swarming, releasing, doing all kinds of things in his body. Darlene had shut him up with a finger of from the bottle she was using to make some Margaritas. What a dazzling gentleman Mustafa was. Contrary to a lot of men Georged had fancied or dated before, he wore clothes that were one size above his and made of heavy materials such as satin or cashmere, with the results that his outfits dropped on him, conveying an impression of tranquil, clean, unbothered strength, which was matching a lot of Mustafa¡¯s core ¡°That¡¯s the first time I go to a dinner party getting picked up by a helicopter¡± ¡°Come on in, everyone¡¯s waiting for you¡± George entered first, doing his best to adopt a fresh eye gauging his surroundings and to imagine he was Mustafa, a non-mutant human, an extraordinary person but, compared to the local crowd, quite ordinary on paper. What Hobbes usually referred to as the reception hall was just a big oversize bling-blingued dining room, with a table so stretched from one side to the other of the room that it was hard not to feel like, with only eight guests present, the place was very unpopulated. How did a man like Hobbes, the most anti social person George had ever met, keep designing buildings that could welcome large groups, his Lab station including a dozen studios snugged inside the earth, his table meant to sit thirty people? He possessed some a serious plethora of social contacts in his book, for sure, his public job forcing him to work along networks of politicians, press, researchers, military personnel, finance goons, bullshit ted-talkers, scientists, and he could dial all of them up and pack his chambers and leave no vacant seats around his turkey roast but that had never been something he did. He worked with those individuals but had never wished to turn business into friendships. This impulse to create spaces who could accommodate hordes of people must have dated from the time his deceased spouse, Daphne, had still been alive. Another question that plagued George and secretly bothered other members of the Team was how in the world a woman as sweet and distinguished, lovely as Daphne could have been interested in Hobbes. But everyone had secrets, and Hobbes¡¯ most monstrous one could be that he was a kind and funny man. George almost choked at the thought, swallowed the wrong way from the glass of water he was using to sponge up the Tequila a little bit ¨Cpace yourself, my boy, he told himself. He rapidly felt reassured about the overall vibe of the dinner into which he was inviting his current significant other: underpopulated, yes, sounds echoing like in a cathedral, but the atmosphere was nice and the little gathering ¨Clittle compared to the volume of the hall¡ª was already buzzing with animation enough, people bringing the food and drinks, inserting such and such trays between plates and cups and around some various center pieces, dispersing bread baskets while joking, chattering, trading some weather talks with each other. Marlene was wearing a simple dress, just beige and unsophisticated, but stole all the looks, ¡°here she is, Uberwoman¡± George elbowed Mustafa in the ribs, and they were quickly introduced. ¡°Oh my god it¡¯s a huge fan! I am an honor¡± Mustafa stuttered, ¡°I mean it¡¯s an honor! I am a huge fan of yours, I¡¯m so sorry¡± He made a sound that George had never heard from him before. He squealed. Marlene grabbed his arm, ¡°oh my god are you okay? Did I step on your foot with my stilettos?¡± ¡°No madame¡± Mustafa looked intensely at her hand resting on his sleeve, his eyes dreamy, ¡°I¡¯m just, I¡¯m just squealing¡± ¡°Mustafa is happy to meet you¡± George removed Marlene¡¯s hand and used a paper plate to fan his date. ¡°Are you kidding?¡± Marlene chuckled, ¡°we are so glad to meet the famous Mustafa!¡± ¡°Famous how¡± Mustafa asked ¡°Marlene, for fuck¡¯s sake¡± George urged her, ¡°and this is the rest of them¡± One second later, Barry emerged from his den and joined them, rolling himself in on his last generation wheels assembled at the last minute by Alphonse. He had taken a shower, George saw, his hair drying wildly on his head, and even he seemed to feel the joyous wind blow through, smiling as he mingled into the group. Marlene went to him excitingly and shuffled his hair around like he was her puppy, shouted, ¡°the man of the hour!¡± before a wave of greetings and compliments popped in the direction of Barry.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Man you look great!¡± ¡°Fancy wheels¡± ¡°A true survivor!¡± ¡°Nice of you to make an appearance, Masquevert¡± ¡°He said to the Grim Reaper, not today bitch¡± ¡°Shut up Ivan¡± Barry tee-heed, his cheeks as red as some fresh tomatoes It didn¡¯t take long for Barry¡¯s eyes to land on Eugenie White, who was nodding and lifting her glass too on the other side of the table. She was wearing a classic skirt and a sweater where one could read the sequined words Garage Sale, for an obscure reason. She participated into the smiling and congratulating but something inside the smile looked fragile, unnerved, skittish. George wondered. Did she really hate being here? Prior to Mustafa¡¯s arrival and Barry¡¯s triumphant homecoming on wheels, she had asked news about him, followed by updates on everyone, assisted them in setting the table, flattening some wraps together and spreading some guacamole on toasts, but she didn¡¯t seem to be bursting with ecstasy. They eyeballed each other, which was a normal thing. Her face had on it what could be interpreted as fondness but George was guessing it was pride, just plain pride, as she had been the one who had saved the Bolt¡¯s life once more, when she didn¡¯t even possess a real medical degree. She looked at him like one looked at a prize, which seemed to be appropriate for the circumstances and the ambient energy. Only her fixed smile didn¡¯t appear to climb higher than her nose and certainly didn¡¯t reach her eyes, but then she registered that Barry was equally scrutinizing her and expecting a specific and well-crafted comment from her, so she acknowledged it, a good sport, ¡°I can see some definite progress here¡± she said. That comment was a little lame, George thought. ¡°I told you I would rise, like uh¡­ a phoenix from the ashes¡± Barry pressed her ¡°Yeah¡± Eugenie approved, ¡°an upgrade on the bird, definitely¡± George felt the hand of Mustafa on his wrist, his chin tilted upward so he could whisper in his ear ¡°ah, this is the lady who saved the Bolt¡¯s, I mean, Barry¡¯s life?¡± ¡°Yes, that was awkward¡± George conceded, ¡°Barry! Stop being the center of attention and come meet Mustafa!¡± ¡°Mufasa, like Simba¡¯s father?¡± Barry wheeled himself to George and to George¡¯s crush. How precious, he took the time to be one with his emotions and grateful about the moment, about the chance to mix those two sides of one¡¯s existence without lies, without wearing a mask, without a pretext. Barry¡¯s face was fresh, washed, he had some colors in his cheeks, he was wearing a tye-dye sweater. A phoenix. George had been that bird too, some four years or so before, finding himself accidentally located at the center of a mrai moumou offense and the defense of the Team and, a simple cable guy back then, he had unfortunately gotten stuck under a roof on fire and he had believed himself reduced to a pile of ashes that day, until the Team found him, half-fused and far melted into the networks of blue, yellow and red strings still flaring from the main drive wall. ¡®He has absorbed the network¡¯ Uberwoman had said, ¡®I¡¯ve never seen anything like it¡¯ That¡¯s when he became a mutant, not by genetic predisposition, but by fortitude, and the next step had been for the Team to take him in, cradle him as a birthing superhero out of misfortune, trying to turn the tide, make sure to harvest his acquired power while not losing his life, replacing the disintegrated parts of his organism by machinery that would function just as limbs and organs except, they¡¯d be even better. George had embraced this new existence from Day One. Maybe he had not emerged into the world as a superhero, but he was a pure one at heart. He loved that life. Now, he had the same power as Mustafa when Mustafa was sitting cozily in front of screen and lines of codes, only he, now Robortor, could do it by just mobilizing a spot on his brain, by blinking, by batting an eyelash. He could face a wall and picture the pipes beyond its bricks, its inner maze, invert the nodes of current into the hidden roads of city maps, open systems ranging from underground to orbiting the Earth, close his eyes and visualize matrices, observe numbers running endlessly and decide that this number had to go, and that one too, and think about it, and make it happen and, all of a sudden, the entire grid of a state or region would be paralyzed and hacked, torn into vulnerability, brought in plain sight. ¡±BARRY NOT MUFASA, Mustafa¡± George scolded Barry and pulled his ear, before Barry swatted his hand away, ¡°we will horse around later, come meet Mustafa, I said. He¡¯s my date¡± The boy recoiled in his seat, ¡°what the fuck? No one told me Robortor was dating!¡± and he presented his left hand to Mustafa for a shaking session. His other arm was crippled, best not to ask any questions about it, not to mention it, Mustafa had been advised. George saw his partner hesitate, smiling with suspended air inside his cheeks, eyes merry and curious but doubtful. He did have massive, powerful hands, ¡°don¡¯t be afraid to roughen up Barry¡± he encouraged him, ¡°he¡¯s pretty much invincible¡± He had become closest with Barry almost right away, brought together as an unlikely pair thanks to their mutual enjoyment for basketball and their constant goofiness. That had been the straightforward base of their relationship but, over the years, they had shared many things that they wouldn¡¯t disclose to the others about their upbringings, their challenging adolescences, the solitude they had known for different reasons. Maybe they were brothers, maybe. But could you bond so deep with someone so reckless? Did that someone value your kinship or even, for that matter, you as a brother-from-another-mother, if they didn¡¯t see the worth of the life they had? George felt guilty thinking about Barry this way. It wasn¡¯t true that he didn¡¯t value his life. A more accurate description of the situation was that he might just be immature and dumb. George glanced at Eugenie on the side, thinking that might be something similar that prevented her from enjoying her Team experience. The dinner was good until it went badly, and it was all brought down by the Eugenie White-Barry Masquevert dynamic. They were all in a very glowing mood, even Hobbes, who was relaxing for once. Marlene accepted the tiny bottom of a drink just to humor them, like a little girl playing tea time and, after a series of pressing requests, she shared some tales of the past with the group, things that were not included in history books. ¡°Were mrai moumous already inhabiting earth at the time of ancient civilizations?¡± ¡°Yes like the Mayans¡± Darlene and Ivan wanted to know, ¡°the Incas¡± Marlene wet her lips, ¡°you mean aliens?¡± ¡°Yes! Aliens!¡± Ivan roared, ¡°exactly!¡± ¡°That was three thousand years ago¡± she neither denied nor confirmed. Hobbes scoffed next to her. ¡°And?¡± Alphonse jumped in, ¡°there are patterns in the stones that we find all over the world in other extinguished societies, not even to mention that the heads of the Easter Island statues could have toes in the menhirs of Stonehenge¡± ¡°What the hell are you taking about?¡± ¡°Let me get my Earth globe¡± On her way to the bathroom or to fetch something for the table, Eugenie would take the scenic road, ¡°excuse me¡±, ¡°excuse me¡±, ¡°excuse me¡± circling the longer end of the dinner table instead of going around Hobbes and Alphonse. George saw that this made her approach Barry in an angle where she could pass him, brush against him, and trigger his good hand to snatch hers. He had not suffered extensive damage to his right arm except for a projectile that had dug a hole the size of a dime between his wrist and his elbow, but the other shots, hitting him brutally in the chest, had paralyzed his moves on the upper right side of his body. He would be kept off the fighting scene for a while for that reason. ¡°When you said Eugenie helped Barry¡± Mustafa whispered in George¡¯s ear, raised his eyebrows. George saw that he and Mustafa had been absorbed in the same espionage activities. ¡°Yes, what?¡± ¡°Now I get it¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± If Eugenie had undertaken the trip around the shorter end of the table, she would have had a smoother itinerary in and out of the dining room, passing Barry on his handicapped side, restricting his marge of action to interrupt her course. But then she would crouch next to him to indulge him in the exchange he obviously sought, seemingly without outpouring enthusiasm ¨Cwhich made George nervous¡ª until he pulled a smothered giggle out of her and got her to answer something or tilt her head in mysterious admission of something. ¡°What¡¯s up with those two?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± George repeated. ¡°They slept together, that¡¯s as clear as a nose in the middle of a face!¡± ¡°What? Nooo¡± Oh My God that¡¯s what Darlene thinks, George cleared his throat, wavering between aversion and denial. ¡°I¡¯m telling you¡± Mustafa bit into a piece of bread. What now? Barry had reeled Eugenie in again on her way back from the kitchen which, once more, she could have avoided by crossing on Alphonse and Hobbe¡¯s table edge. This time, she lowered herself with difficulty due to her impressive load of pizza rolls, struggling to find her balance. He caught her by the elbow but she politely attempted to shake off his grip on her, pushing his hand away. He bent down and said something to her which opened her eyes as wide as the round platter she had been carrying. It was plain to see she meant to regain her seat as soon as possible. ¡°Trouble¡± Mustafa murmured ¡°Barry, you¡¯re hungry?¡± George improvised, coming at Eugenie¡¯s rescue. ¡°I¡¯ve had four mini bagels but I¡¯m still starving¡± Barry answered somberly, but then, he forced his luminous smile back. ¡°There are a lot of shrimp appetizers on our spot, come wheel yourself here¡± George cocked his head towards Mustafa, communicating silently that the gossiping was over, and Mustafa stretched to help himself to more tapas, adding some salt, ¡°whoever prepared the scampi, this is divine¡± he commented, and Darlene lifted her hand proudly. ¡°I meant scampi¡± George corrected himself ¡°She got them from the fucking market¡± Ivan commented, finding it hilarious. Hobbes was sitting with his legs crossed and an air of contentment and mindfulness on his face that George had seldom seen, supervising the table like he was Saint Nicholas in a workshop of elves, his arms resting on the sides of his chair, bent to allow his hand to perk on top of his thighs. He wouldn¡¯t smile too brightly, no, that would be too outrageous, but he wasn¡¯t moping either, just gradually working on a thick glass of whiskey, and Alphonse was smoking a cigar next to him. He gestured at Barry, ¡°Barry Masquevert, you look like you want something and that this something isn''t seafood. More cheese?¡± ¡°Some Tequila?¡± Hobbes was about to refuse with a berating look under his high and wrinkled forehead, but Ivan interjected, ¡°Oh come on!¡± Young Ivan stood up and launched a hand to reach the bottle of champagne open in the middle of the table, ¡°he¡¯s probably the one who needs it the most here!¡± ¡°Ivan, no¡± Marlene was more vehement and stopped him and filled Barry¡¯s glass with water. Eugenie was seating on the opposite side from his and Mustafa¡¯s and Barry¡¯s at the table. George watched her discreetly. As it got later and later and night outside of the veranda engulfed their little party, he saw she occasionally produced a nose-laugh with Darlene next to her, nodded to a joke, asked a question about a story, but she began daydreaming a lot, something absent taking hold of her facial expression. Something weird had happened between her and Barry. Or, George chastised himself for imagining too much drama, she must simply be tired. After all, it was a Friday, and she probably had had a long week at work, a high school, a post office, wherever she was holding a profession, he had not followed very well. George kept forgetting that humans got tired from such simple things as lack of sleep or too much physical activity. Mustafa wasn¡¯t tired, and proved a blatant contrast to Eugenie¡¯s disposition. He and Barry got along splendidly, now that they were seated so close, and in the end, because they were conversing loudly and into George¡¯s ears and it didn¡¯t seem that it would ever end, George got up, grabbed his chair, and effortlessly lifted Mustafa¡¯s so he didn¡¯t have to continue being sandwiched in the middle of the two any longer. ¡°Such display of strength¡± Mustafa emitted a discreet whistle ¡°I¡¯m blowing your mind, right?¡± He saw some faint guilt on Barry¡¯s traits, ¡°George, have you seen Crocodile Dundee?¡± he asked in a resolution to include his friend in the conversation ¡°Is that what you guys are talking about?¡± George pretended he was baffled and ideologically disappointed ¡°It¡¯s both mine and Barry¡¯s favorite childhood movie¡± Mustafa explained. His cheeks were flushed after too many servings of raclette. He was delightful-looking, the vision of him pumping some hot blood inside George¡¯s veins ¡°Is that the story of the dude who hypnotizes crocodiles¡ª¡± ¡°Alligators¡± Barry rectified ¡°But he¡¯s like, scared of escalators or something like that?¡± ¡°You know who he reminds me of?¡± Barry asked, ¡°Steve Irwin¡± ¡°Seriously¡± Mustafa approved, ¡°he is one of my personal heroes¡± ¡°Mine too!¡± George rolled his eyes with exasperation, trying to attract Eugenie¡¯s attention, now that she was directly in front of him. Her fork was zigzagging through the food in her plate, bringing very small portions to her mouth, that she chewed on for a long time before swallowing. She didn¡¯t look down, no, her eyes were cast at the little crowd above the dinner table but she wasn¡¯t blinking or focusing on something special. She was staring right through everyone, a slight polite smile plastered under her nose, to fit right in. She was looking exactly like Barry during the past weeks when he had believed no one could see him and he was tuned out and peering into the emptiness. ¡°You¡¯re ok, Eugenie?¡± George asked her directly ¡°George¡± she said cheerfully, re-centering her gaze on him and adding some friendliness in it, ¡°yes, it¡¯s a very nice dinner party¡± ¡°You look like you¡¯re in your head a lot¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m having a little d¨¦j¨¤-vu¡± she sighed, ¡°it¡¯s a bit weird being back here, with all of you at the same time¡± ¡°Yes I¡¯m sure Eugenie¡± George scratched the top of her hand next to her plate with affection. He wasn¡¯t sure at all, he remained clueless about the contents of her mind and her heart, and what she felt about the crazy turn her life had taken when she had been placed on the same path as the Team. ¡°I forgot how spacious the rooms are here¡± ¡°But it¡¯s kind of like your second home, right, Eugenie?¡± Barry asked, unexpectedly exiting the Australian outback discussion he was having with Mustafa to jump in the middle of George and Eugenie¡¯s ¡°Right?¡± His voice seemed to bellow above all other voices as if willing to draw attention to it. Eugenie grudgingly granted him her notice, her head lazily rolling in Barry¡¯s direction on top of her neck, as if she had anticipated everything. Her mouth made a tired O. It wasn¡¯t tough to picture her doing the same in front of a class of grumpy teenagers but, again, George had the feeling that there had been a recent story about her switching job to work at the pot office. Eugenie tried to look surprised but something at the lower line of her eyes said that surprise was the last thing she felt, ¡°uuh¡± she hung her sentence, sensing some surrounding clusters of chat dwindle in sound around her, and many pairs of eyes fall on her little spot in front of Barry. Trouble, George¡¯s thoughts echoed Mustafa¡¯s earlier words, and he felt Mustafa¡¯s knee nudge his under the table at the same time as a hush fell on the table, and Marlene must have captured the same clue because she stepped in, hitting her spoon against the glass of champagne she was never going to drink and standing up and saying ¡°can we, uh¡­ actually get a round of applause for our little Barry here, back from the dead?¡± Everyone rushed to abandon their cutlery and glasses, this time, and clap for real. George leaned into Mustafa¡¯s ear, ¡°every time she says Little Barry, another Barry in a parallel dimension gets shot again¡± ¡°Stoop¡± Mustafa found it hilarious, snuggled George¡¯s shoulder and smothered a chuckle ¡°Thank you, thank you¡± Barry waited patiently for the applause to die down, but Marlene wasn¡¯t finished. She volte-faced and swung her elegant flute in the air again, ¡°and now, let¡¯s give it for this brilliant Team, kicking Mrai Moumou¡¯s asses under the leadership of our legendary Hobbes!¡± The clapping lessened, then rose once more, seemingly insufferable for Barry and the sudden pressing investigation he was conducting on Eugenie about how much of a home Hobbes¡¯ Lab was to her. He did his best to partake in the clapping with his left fingers tapping on the tablecloth, then waited for decibels to decrease and opened his mouth again, looking vividly at Eugenie. Marlene stuck to prolonging the festivities as much as sh could, added on more item on the ovation agenda, ¡°and our dear Alphonse, for coming up with all those dishes from scratch! You are the best host, Alphonse, and we are feasting like true heroes¡± Everyone roared and even stomped their feet under the table like a bunch of football fans in a stadium. Refusing for things to be cocooned back into normalcy, Barry reiterated his question, ¡°so Eugenie, you¡¯re not inclined to live here?¡± In the restored calmness, Eugenie planted her eyes straight into Barry¡¯s, a tension and a coldness in the muscles around her mouth that testified that her amicable persona was now struggling to exist, ¡°hell no¡± she said in one quick breath. Then she drew back that breath sharply as if to recollect the words she had let escape. She looked down at the fork that she was levitating above her food, ¡°I mean no disrespect to anyone here who is always so welcoming, but this place is a long way from home¡± Alphonse and Hobbes were pretending to not pay attention to the start of the illness at ease between Barry and Eugenie, comparing things from Hobbes¡¯ phone to some other things on Alphonse¡¯s phone, but a thickening air was enveloping the dinner time. Supper, not dinner, she had texted, George remembered. Eugenie used some strange words like that, he never knew if she was kidding or if they were really part of her every day vocabulary. George lifted the board of amuse-bouches ¡°another toast, Eugenie?¡± She presented her plate to him, let him serve her the treats, munching on something other than food. ¡°Right¡± he said, ¡°lots of yums and¡ª¡± ¡°Is there something you want to say?¡± Barry had more questions. He shook the breadcrumbs from his napkin, starting the process of folding it, very slowly and cautiously. The process appeared arduous with only one available hand. Eugenie didn¡¯t strike George as someone who would pursue pretending to enjoy herself at the moment and her face had become stern. She started working on her own project, lining up the three mini quiches in her plate into a bumpy line, ¡°no¡± she blew. It was compelling that she and Barry continuously mirrored each other¡¯s actions through time and space. ¡°Which, by the way, means yes¡± Barry clarified for the rest of the table. George scanned all the guests, and thought it funny that everyone¡¯s reaction was so them. Marlene watched the scene openly, her face relaxed, she was ready for anything. Darlene was sucking on a straw with an excited dance of eyebrows above her drink. Ivan was immensely confused but at the same time preoccupied about the peanut he was not managing to break free out of its shell. Hobbes had a tipsy look on his face, and Alphonse¡¯s mind was in another place, anticipating his next course, determined to impress the dinner¡¯s attendees until the end, whatever the end might be. George was afraid. Mustafa was holding his breath next to George. ¡°What means yes?¡± Eugenie went over straightening her already aligned quiches. ¡°When you say no¡± Barry replied, now moving on to folding his napkin in two, sharpening the edges ¡°Someone here wants homemade lemonade?¡± Alphonse wanted to know, and everyone said yes, please, homemade lemonade, all the homemade lemonade you can bring. When Hobbes¡¯ wife had breathed her last breath, his dear Daphne, Alphonse, who had raised Hobbes from a kid to a man had become cuter, and more adorable, and cozier around Hobbes, as if willing to wear that final hat in his long career, to ease his master¡¯s inconsolable grief. It was hard to obtain a word that was heartfelt from the man but, since the passing of Daphne, he had mellowed with Hobbes, almost as if he had evaluated his upbringing of his prot¨¦g¨¦ sufficient and moved on to more tender things. Those demonstrations usually lasted a nanosecond but, to the trained eye, such as the one George had acquired, it was noticeable. ¡°You¡¯re putting words in my mouth that I didn¡¯t say¡± Eugenie almost slid a little quiche there, into her mouth, but changed her mind halfway, as she perceive something forceful could be coming from Barry. She replaced the snack at the center of her plate. She was probably right. ¡°What words?¡± ¡°You tell me¡± Barry had something in mind, George saw, and he was pinching the edges of the napkin¡¯s folds so they would be crisp, industrial ¡°that¡¯s a bit cowardly on your part, Eugenie¡± ¡°Cowardly?¡± she sneered ¡°Is that normal?¡± Mustafa asked so softly in George¡¯s ear he wasn¡¯t sure the sound was real, then prodded him in the ribs with persistence but George kept un-reactive, concerned about the argument that was unfolding. However, it was too late, as Eugenie was losing patience and composure. Strain was leaving her face, the act she had been challenged to maintain, and she was becoming openly annoyed ¡°Funny how you call coward, just being sensible. You know, Barry, fear is useful sometimes¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Wait, guys, this is surely a debate for another time, and we shouldn¡¯t¡ª" Eugenie didn¡¯t even seem aware that Ivan had spoken ¡°This is a load of shit. I am a coward, yes, and Barry, here¡± she impaled a quiche with her mini fork, the one with the egg pat¨¦ stuffing, and agitated it in Barry¡¯s direction, ¡°is the fearless Bolt, which is not always more noble¡± ¡°Not always noble like how¡± Barry¡¯s eyes darkened in menacing response to the little quiche shaking under his nose. One thing that triggered Barry Masquevert the most was to be addressed by aid of a pointy object closing in on him. ¡°Not noble like, you will die, from your lack of cowardice¡± she answered, and George heard Hobbes chuckle. In agreement? In opposition? In desolation? Who knew. ¡°What is that supposed to mean¡± ¡°You know what it is supposed to mean¡± Her eyes matched his disdain, she used her index and middle finger to recreate the shape of a gun, rose it under her mouth and blew some imaginary smoke from it. A ripple of unrest passed through the group. Barry reacted at once, did exactly what George thought he would, darted up from his wheelchair, crumpling his beautiful napkin-folding enterprise in the process, then, found out he was not able to hold the upright position, obviously. Pushed downwards by gravity, some slight vertigo and the anguish in his body, he fell heavily on his left hand, palm flat on the table cloth, hunched down. Tried to say something but didn¡¯t gather enough air. Sweat budded on his forehead, just under his hairline. ¡°Barry sit, dammit!¡± George said, ¡°Mustafa, pull him down¡± ¡°I will not do that¡± Mustafa politely declined, horrified ¡°Barry sit¡± Marlene grabbed Barry¡¯s shirt at the opening of his neck and lowered him back on his seat. ¡°This is great¡± Hobbes said, shaking his whiskey with the ice cubes at the bottom of it, and Alphonse came back with ten lemonade glasses, all of them ornamented with half a real lemon and glittery salt on the rims. Everyone had to wait until all the drinks were delivered and, George saw, Eugenie and Barry kept their face off going without a word, smoke coming out of their ears. How had things risen from nothing to everything and everything so heated and ferocious at once? ¡°Thank you Alphonse¡± Hobbes said with utmost seriousness without looking at his butler. He nodded courteously. ¡°Thank you Alphonse¡± Marlene said, squeezing Alphonse¡¯s wrist ¡°Thank you Alphonse¡± they all said, Eugenie and Barry too, and too a sip of their drink in silence, all suspended to what was to come. Everyone commented about something beautiful about the presentation of the drink and the way they were so hued, the green lime shade more prominent at the bottom, the fresh yellow and white brightening the top, the little umbrella decoration so charming. ¡°Why are all of you pausing for the lemonade?¡± Mustafa asked George under his breath ¡°Because it¡¯s Alphonse, Hobbes¡¯ butler. Everyone here would rather cut their pinky finger off than hurt his feelings¡± ¡°So we resume!¡± Darlene judged it enough time devoted to Alphonse¡¯s said feelings, ¡°Barry, you were saying?¡± ¡°How about we play a nice game of Monopoly over dessert?¡± Ivan suggested Barry wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his left hand ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything back to those baseless accusations¡± he tried retrieve the breath at his lips and the perfect shape of the napkin he had just rolled into a ball ¡°I¡¯m not the one who has a lot to say¡± ¡°You, Barry, have no awareness of danger, you¡ª¡° Eugenie dropped her mini quiche back to her little quiche line, ¡°you are a firecracker¡± it started rather positive ¡°Thank you¡± Barry wheezed at her ¡°You are a ticking time-bomb, you are a child, a little boy with a dangerous toy, you, you, you haven''t got the sense to be afraid and, as a result¡­ you put yourself in that position¡± ¡°Which position¡± ¡°To get hurt¡± A lot of oohs and aahs were stifled among the crowd, followed by Ivan, ¡°quite indecent conduct for the evening¡± he spoke reproachfully although, glancing at him, George saw that he was as eagerly waiting for more action as the rest of them. ¡°How so?¡± Barry ignored Ivan Eugenie pushed her chair backwards, distanced herself from the table, ¡®I¡¯m sorry my friend but¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me friend¡± The ice in Barry¡¯s voice seemed to reduce the temperature around the table by a few degrees, and George saw Ivan shiver, received a similar tremor from Mustafa next to him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Barry¡± Eugenie rephrased, ¡°you lack fear. You will die from it. I don¡¯t want to be there when you do¡± ¡°Perhaps we should all take a breather and¡ª¡± Marlene tried, but Hobbes landed a strict hand on hers, pressed it delicately. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Marlene, let them say their things¡± ¡°Let them say their things!¡± Darlene encouraged, clearly the most inebriated of the table. George could recognize the opportunity for a mediator position when one presented itself ¡°Barry, I¡­ I I think Eugenie just means that she cares about you, like all of¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯re a shitty teacher¡± Barry said to Eugenie. Ivan gasped ¡°Well, you¡¯re a shitty superhero¡± she hissed back, annihilating her three quiches with a strong move of her fork. ¡°You are a shitty nurse¡± Darlene snorted loudly, at the top of her amusement. ¡°You are a¡ª¡± Eugenie stood up, unsure ¡°a shitty Geography student¡± ¡°I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass about Geography¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re also a shitty student in other subjects, Barry!¡± Barry¡¯s anger was loose, his face all red, doing all he could to accept that he would remain seated without embarrassing himself trying to get up again. A murderous urge rolled at the bottom of his eyes. Lastly, he threw his neatly folded napkin at Eugenie, which she intercepted with ease. More muffled oohs and aahs. ¡°You¡¯re a shitty cook¡± Barry continued. ¡°You¡¯re a shitty roommate¡± And as she spoke, George saw that Eugenie¡¯s fury switched down a notch at the very second she heard her own words. Her eyes opened abruptly and in striking concern, startled by the sentence she had produced. Had she said something she regretted? George wondered why, as if being accused of being a shitty roommate was, for some inexplicable reason, worse than being a shitty superhero. ¡°Really¡± Barry said so low that outside of the ambient and petrified silence, no one would have heard it. A devilish smile curled up his lips. The anticipation was unbearable, furtive looks kept slaloming around the dishes and plates. Eugenie was tugging at the sleeves of her glittery jumper, her eyes so big now, even a little wet, the thing in them which stunningly clashed with her previous un-molded aggressiveness: she was begging, imploring. Her head even shook imperceptibly, saying, pleading, petitioning, no. ¡°Really. Well¡± Barry started, slowly, plainly tasting the syllables of his words in advance, savoring them. No, no, please, George saw from Eugenie¡¯s eyes and mouth, she mouthed it, no, but Barry was launched, full power Barry, ready for the kill: ¡°you¡¯re a shitty lover¡± he said. Everyone hiccuped, including George, and even Hobbes, whose thick glass of whiskey dropped heavily against the table in a dull thud. Eugenie¡¯s face crumpled with a whistling sigh, had she been a bag punctured by a long needle, some tears appearing at the folds of her eyes, and she grabbed her quiche rubble, threw it at Barry. He didn¡¯t even try to avoid them, some cheese exploding on his chest like some actual steel bullets had done two weeks before, the molten yellow slowly dripping. ¡°You little¡± she said, hyperventilating, ¡°you little shit, you monster¡± ¡°You¡¯re a shitty fuck, Ms White¡± Barry drooled out the name with despise, took a big gulp of his glass of water, chugged it, re-positioned it on the table, and Eugenie almost knocked down her chair when she ran from the room. Barry exhaled bitterly ¡°sorry, everyone, really sorry, I¡¯ll make it up to you at another dinner¡± he said, punching the commands on the left side of his wheelchair, rotating it towards the door behind him, initiating a similar attempt at a quick escape as Eugenie¡¯s. Unfortunately, the chair had many great gadgets, qualities, bonuses, little tricks, but speed wasn¡¯t one of them. Darlene nodded approvingly ¡°well, they have said their things, I believe¡± PART 4: Ten tables (5) The table with the stale breakfast There was a new man in Eugenie¡¯s life. How did Darlene know such a thing? Barry and Ivan suspected she was using Robortor¡¯s spyware, the little link of blinkers circling above town that people often mistook for UFO¡¯s, to check her facts. It was true that the two women often talked on the phone, but Barry had a difficult time believing that the reports came from the mouth of his Eugenie White. Would she be one to say that this man was ¡®so enamored with her¡¯? Would she call him a sweetheart, a darling, someone who was ¡®hanging on a leash at her every move, ready to unroll a trail of flowers and petals of flowers under anything she¡¯s present from her life¡¯ with her own words, casually chatting with Darlene? Barry thought that she was more reserved than this behavior suggested. Uberwoman noticed the murderous eyes Barry was darting at Darlene above the breakfast table. She always joined them as an act of politeness on Friday mornings, since she didn¡¯t know hunger nor thirst. He felt her hand tap on top of his like it was the sugary top of a cupcake, ¡°Cheer up Barry¡± she said with a warm smile, ¡°you couldn¡¯t possibly imagine that Eugenie was going to stay and hang out with us forever¡± ¡°Or stay single forever¡± Darlene added He felt the lobes of his ears become hotter, fought mightily against retrieving his hand from Marlene¡¯s as a defensive reflex and showing his middle finger to Darlene ¡°WHAT no¡± he laughed horribly, so loud that even sleepy Ivan lifted his head from his plate, ¡°I was not even listening, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about¡± ¡°You think Eugenie White belongs to you¡± Darlene teased him, ¡°you have like, this human, she is like¡± she chuckled, particularly inspired, ¡°your little human¡± ¡°We are all human here, except for Uberwoman¡± Robortor said. ¡°I mean your little civilian¡± ¡°Sorry Marlene I didn¡¯t mean¡± Robortor offered a hand as an apology, ¡°you make up for the fact that you¡¯re not an organic human by being the most human in your heart, evidently¡± ¡°No offense taken, George¡± ¡°Eugenie¡¯s like, your pet¡± Darlene continued to pester Barry and pointed her spoon at him. The embarrassment heat was becoming an ire red burning in his cheeks, now. ¡°Darlene¡± Marlene tilted her head at her, ¡°coffee, anyone?¡± ¡°Then why else would you be so grumpy when we talk about her new date?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± Barry grunted back, ¡°my arm hurts, that¡¯s all¡± ¡°Because you don¡¯t do your physical therapy¡± Darlene winked at him, ¡°without Eugenie, the fact that Alphonse is your new nurse, you don¡¯t want to practice so m¡ª¡± ¡°Darlene¡± Uberwoman looked intensely at her. Robortor shoved a fork of eggs into his mouth with a scoff. He was really struggling to not laugh out loud. ¡°What physical therapy¡± Barry said, ¡°I¡¯m the Bolt, I can get better on my own¡± Darlene seemed to regret her rushed judgement and nodded at him, ¡°I know. That¡¯s actually very cool¡± ¡°Besides¡± Barry heard himself say, ¡°I¡¯m having enough of this place. I¡¯m spending the weekend at Eugenie¡¯s¡± When the silence fell, he saw that he had made that decision right there and then. Added, ¡°which, conveniently, is also my home¡± Not really he could read at the bottom of Darlene¡¯s incredulous eyes, but even she didn¡¯t dare going there. Robortor¡¯s eyes bulged at him, his silent laughing bringing him to the verge of tears, while carefully chewing the copious quantity of food inside his mouth so as not to choke, ¡°Ghahtf bmy mbooy¡± he approved. ¡°Can I come with you?¡± Ivan asked ¨Che really couldn¡¯t read between the lines, and he really couldn¡¯t read people, or a room, although, he was good at books, and even a gifted writer. ¡°No, it¡¯s too small there¡± Darlene¡¯s eye shone evilly, ¡°that¡¯s a great idea, actually, Barry¡± she circled the bottom of her plate with the tip of her spoon, creating elegant patterns in the maple syrup, ¡°go and see for yourself¡± Before he could say anything, Marlene recaptured Barry¡¯s hand, ¡°is Eugenie aware of¡­ your plans¡± ¡°Yes¡± he lied ¡°Have you apologized for your uh¡­¡± Darlene made a tentative but even she changed her mind halfway, remained silent. ¡°How does she know that you¡¯re coming over¡± Ivan asked, ¡°you don¡¯t have a phone¡± ¡°Emails¡± Barry lied more ¡°And she¡¯s okay with that?¡± Darlene squinted suspiciously ¡°You send each other emails?¡± Ivan was doubting it too ¡°None of this is your business anyway¡± Marlene said, but she couldn¡¯t stop looking at Barry, ¡°maybe email her like¡­ once more. To be sure¡± Barry forced a cool vibe to guide his movement, a chill undulation to dissimulate his frustration. He put down his fork, ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking any advice from any of you about like, life, in general¡± he dried his mouth with his paper napkin deposited it next to the plate. ¡°We have nothing going on anyway¡± Robortor pointed out, ¡°crime¡¯s asleep in this town¡± ¡°Not that Barry can participate, with his shoulder and hand being like, marshmallows¡± Ivan smiled at him. Barry flicked him the ball of his discarded paper tissue, ¡°Marshmallows¡± he sighed, ¡°coming from you, Mr I-Shoot-Some-Goo-For-A-Living¡± They both laughed like the teenagers they were. ¡°How will you go there?¡± Alphonse walked in the room with a boiler and his favorite mug, on which all could read Why Beavers Hate Water Streams. ¡°Bolting, obviously¡± ¡°Nu-uh, you still have too many fresh stitches everywhere¡± ¡°Oh my god¡± Barry massaged the bridge of his nose, blinked at Alphonse, ¡°you and your stitches, can¡¯t you talk about anything else?¡± ¡°You said your arm hurts¡± Still clinging on the calmness while he wished he could just storm out and grab the table cloth after him, knock over everything that was on the table, Barry got up, ¡°I missed the part where I asked you to be like, my parents or anything. I¡¯m totally okay now. I¡¯m dying of boredom here, I just need some fresh air. I¡¯ll take the train¡± ¡°Station¡¯s been destroyed, if you remember. You were there¡± Darlene masticated on some raisins with her mouth open, ¡°getting gunned down, there, at the station¡± ¡°DARLENE¡± Uberwoman snapped ¡°I¡¯m just trolling him, he loves it, it¡¯s like, his love language¡± ¡°Anyway, I was lying¡± Barry said, ¡°I wasn¡¯t making a face because my arm hurts, it¡¯s just, this breakfast is really terrible¡± ¡°Hey¡± Robortor took offense, he, the breakfast maker of the week ¡°It¡¯s true that everything is either burned or stale¡± Ivan added. Alphonse sipped on his tea.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Why do you say stuff like this¡± George moaned, ¡°it¡¯s gratuitous meanness¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s really because his arm hurts¡± Ivan said ¡°It¡¯s because he¡¯s jealous of Eugenie¡¯s new guy¡± ¡°I¡¯m leaving you now, immature people¡± Barry shoved his right hand inside his pocket and gathered his plate and utensils with his left hand, focused immensely while rotating towards the sink, where he dropped everything, ¡°have a good weekend¡± then aimed at the stairs behind the dining room door and, counting on the stratospheric power of his pride to carry him like an angel would on top of white fluffy clouds, he drew a big gulp of air and ran the stairs upwards, as if nothing was bothering his movements. The pain detonated inside his chest under his right shoulder and he barely reached the last step and, turning the corner, disappeared into the darkness of the first floor corridor. There, he stopped, out of breath, bent down against the wall and caught himself with one hand on his lap. ¡°Stu¡­¡± he swallowed hard, munched on something rough in his mouth ¡°¡­pid¡± but the pieces of the conversation he could still hear from his colleagues cheered him up in the storm of negative feelings he was experiencing. ¡°He didn¡¯t even take the lift¡± commented Ivan ¡°Wow he¡¯s really healed¡± he heard from Darlene ¡°That¡¯s really impressive¡± Alphonse added, followed by a big sluurp Barry smiled in the black of the hallway. That¡¯s what he was. Impressive. It¡¯s not that he thought that Eugenie White would, in fact, remain single for the rest of her life. On the contrary, he was picturing that she would not be single at all. In Barry¡¯s heart, since the first hour he had met her, he had envisioned that they would end up together, and that, ladies and gentlemen, would be the thing that would last until the end of time. Barry reviewed all the information he had unwillingly obtained from Darlene¡¯s gossip as he was absent-mindedly packing a small backpack, his socks, some pills, an unopened box of teabags, Sansha flavored. So there was this guy she had met at a conference about special education needs, his name was John, or Joe, or Jack, or Jimmy, and he was so into Eugenie that he had invited her for dinner in Vegas right away, ah yes, Barry thought, because Las Vegas was where the conference took place! Totally absurd. Apparently, the two conference attendees hadn¡¯t seen the hours go by while talking and drinking and playing pool that evening turned into early morning. Barry couldn¡¯t reconcile the Eugenie White he knew with this description of a person who survives through a sleepless night until dawn. Darlene didn¡¯t know whether Eugenie and Joffrey had slept together, but the idea brought some flare into Barry¡¯s nostrils. In any case, since that day, they had been dating. Darlene wasn¡¯t able to be sure she chose the right term, as the new generation of romance the first quarter of the twenty-first century brought up contained way too many situation-ships possible. Dating? Seeing each other? Seeing other people and each other? She wasn¡¯t sure, as Darlene was, herself, asexual and completely uninterested in dating. He went into his bathroom and stripped to his underwear and used the sink to wash up. Everything he had heard was some awful, terrible bullshit. He was Barry Masquevert, he thought while the drops of hot water splashed his face. He was top-of-the-tier handsome, he was super good-looking, he was a hell of a catch. No matter who this Johnny or Jimbo was, Eugenie had surely forgotten that she could do better. He snatched a small towel to dry his face and shoulders, threw it on top of his backpack. He would bring it, making it seem like he had thought about some necessities, in case she was late on laundry. She would think it was clever, and anticipating, and courteous. Then he rose to look at himself in the mirror on top of the sink with dread. He grimaced in front of his reflection. Barry¡¯s indestructible self-confidence wasn¡¯t nearly ready to face any possible destruction, not in this universe, not on this plane, but even he agreed that he looked a fright. ¡°Oh mann¡± he shrunk in, ¡°Masquevert¡± He felt skinnier, which was a devastating feeling. Surely, being deprived of real food while he was breathing through an enormous tube between his teeth had made him lose a couple kilos. His face was still alluring, a jawline that would cut through a brick wall, his eyebrows circumflexed in a innate expression of detached flirt, the small curl at the birth of his upper lips continuously menacing to smile and conquer, his messy hair a bit deflated but still adding a boost to the whole thing. However, he couldn¡¯t move well. He couldn¡¯t roll his shoulders like he usually did to transform any of his actions into a spell, switch the energy of the room from warm to hot. The top part of his chest was wrapped into some thick bandages in order to hold his ribs together, so Barry grabbed a pair of scissors from the cupboard next to the skin and cut through them with rising anger. Better, now, he let the strips of spongy fabric drop to the floor. He shook his head in desolation. Two enormous band-aids were still taking ample space under his right shoulder, with their twins on his upper back. Barry repressed a gag. The bruises on his torso had been turning from lavender to brown and yellow, imitating the spots of an ill-looking leopard. Now that he was free of the mummy rolls, he felt liberated, but everything hurt more. Eugenie had mentioned that three of his ribs had been turned into dust at the passage of the two bullets that went through him, which she knew because she had opened him. One last element of sadness adorning him was the long line of gauze climbing from his sternum almost to the shadow of his chin. Could he really be frustrated at her for supposedly not remembering anything of their episode under the assault of bullets at the train station, when he wasn¡¯t in the position to recall the traumatizing stuff she had had to face alone, slicing him open like a cake, then spreading his rib cage with some birthing forceps and digging inside the gooey mess while he was sound asleep? No, he saw, and he looked down at the sink, the little bubbles of soap he hadn¡¯t rinsed there, floating lightly towards the hole in a lazy whirlpool motion. He was ashamed and sad. And one feeling kept swelling inside his bruised and cut and butchered and stitched-up chest: jealousy. Barry had never known that feeling before and he was well resolute to get rid of it as soon as possible, as it was too similar to grief, to mourning, and burned his sinuses like tears did, nastily. His eyes traveled lower, on his stomach, on the huge ugly scar curved like a comma above his belly button, which still bore some purple and red inflammation hue marks around it. He closed his eyes and held himself against the sink, breathing deeply. Had Ivan really nicknamed him a bullet blanket when he was not around? Could it be that he was that kind of guy, chasing adrenaline so furiously that he didn¡¯t feel fear, didn¡¯t turn around in front of danger, one who put his life at risk every day until his ass was majorly kicked? He couldn¡¯t possibly imagine such a ridiculous explanation for his most recent ordeals, and he was still hot, so fuck it, Barry thought. He tried to flex his muscles but, again, everything was hurting. He would have to rely only on the power of his face, although a little pale, a little gaunt, and he was sure that it would still work. He knew how to throw a perfectly well darkened glance at girls ¨Cwomen, he corrected himself¡ª, how to half smile with the promise of something secret and enigmatic. Whatever kind of guy he was, Barry thought, it was still a thousand times better than any kind of guy Eugenie believed she had in her radar, seducing her with acceptance, while he knew that she liked defiance, wooing her with words of adoration, while she liked persiflage, showering her with flowers, while she craved madness. When she told people she was plagued by her autism and she preferred her personal space bubble left untouched on a daily basis, it meant anyone but Barry. He had learned how to constantly brush against her, his fingers around her like bumblebees, he knew how to smoothly penetrate it, and there was something so refreshing about it that it sometimes cut off the breath at his lips, just the thought of it. It was like taming a wild animal, or a specimen from one of those species that stood at the verge of extinction. So what if he couldn¡¯t really use his right arm and hand, at the moment? He would employ his left one, flutter around her neck, hover somewhere near her waist. Still winning, he smiled at the mirror while brushing his teeth. The trains were cancelled, that was true, after the town¡¯s main station had been leveled, Barry thought and tried to not reminisce as he was painfully sliding into a clean shirt, a large hoodie and, finally, whimpering through the right sleeve, a winter coat. The sun was shining outside like winter could often sparkle when the sky was so blue and deserted by clouds, with an ice sheet covering everything and the concrete of the sidewalk and the needles of the pine trees and the metal of the cars. He shoved his feet into some comfortable tennis shoes; he would take the subway, walk a little to the main square, then take two more buses and a tram. He could get somewhere without bolting, come on, Masquevert, he reluctantly stuck his right arm into the sling that Alphonse told him to use, otherwise, the old man would never let him leave, you are winning, w i n n i ng. Now he truly looked like a crippled individual, but he forced a smile at the moment to pass the front door, ¡°you will be careful, won¡¯t you?¡± Alphonse asked, ¡°you¡¯re not a hundred percent recovered, far from it¡± ¡°How many percent, do you think¡± ¡°You¡¯re not taking me seriously¡± ¡°Alphoonse¡± Barry groaned, feigning to be disinterested when, as a matter of fact, the perspective of the outside world and its bright sunlight and the exposure of it scared him a little bit, ¡°you enjoy being a nurse too much¡± ¡°Just don¡¯t bolt¡± ¡°I¡¯m going like, next door¡± ¡°It¡¯s on the other side of the city¡± ¡°I have taken a bus before¡± he protested, suddenly remembering that the last time he had been on a bus, he was also bleeding heavily from being shot in the stomach. The thought made him shiver, bullet blanket, wink-wink, but he grinned at Alphonse, ¡°I¡¯ll text you when I¡¯m there¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t have a phone, Barry Masquevert¡± ¡°I¡¯ll email you¡± Barry honestly couldn¡¯t picture Eugenie White playing pool, let alone in a Vegas casino or busy dinner hall. Darlene must have been planting some triggering thoughts in his brain just for her own entertainment, that wasn¡¯t such a far-fetched theory, when you knew Darlene. Barry shut the massive door of Hobbes manor and walked the hundred steps leading to the fence with the same disbelief in his heart, that Eugenie had engaged in a game of billiard with an unknown guy, in some bubbling and groovy location on a Saturday night. At the foot of the tall gate, he pressed the eight keys of the opening code and slid the arm sling off his neck, freed himself from it, discarded it in the first trash bin he found. He tidied his right hand into the deep pocket of his winter coat. He turned around in his sneakers and the light blinded him. PART 4: Ten tables (6) Timetable After three blocks he finally reached the subway station and realized he was completely exhausted, but he had some urgencies on his mind. Barry didn¡¯t carry any money. How would he pay for the metro fare? He went down the stairs cautiously, holding himself on the ramp, praying that none of his comrades had followed him and spying on him. Every change of altitude was a torment, bursting the pain in his shoulder and rib cage, but he forced himself to pick up speed when he located the perfect accomplice for his next task. Barry reached the end of the stairs and distractedly matched the itinerary of an old lady carrying a box of papers, until they arrived at a swipe-in turnstile and he glued himself to her back. The little doors slid apart very slowly as she presented her transportation card to the scan and as they went through. Barry rushed in to avoid being crushed by them and bumped into her, almost lost his footing under an assault of cramps inside his chest. They collided and she spun to face him. ¡°Young man?¡± she angrily looked up at him but, when she saw his face, her expression changed and her eyes enlarged as saucers, ¡°are you okay?¡± ¡°What?¡± he couldn¡¯t think very well, preoccupied by the pain in his body and the sensory overload of the place ¡°Do you need any help?¡± she lodged the box she was carrying under her arm and snapped her fingers in front of his face, ¡°are you sick?¡± ¡°What no¡± he chuckled, sniffled, ¡°thank you for letting me go through, I forgot my pass at home¡± ¡°Go get some food, and water, stay hydrated¡± she shoved a five dollar bill into the left pocket of his puffy coat. Wow. On the plus side, he had been able to enter the subway station without paying a dime, and he had made some easy money. On the minus side, it was apparent that he looked like either a hobo or a drug addict and, in any case, someone who was not well. The lady nodded at him gravely, with an air of understanding, ¡°I was once lost too¡± she added ominously, ¡°and then I¡± That was enough. Barry felt the air become tight at the back of his mouth and he rushed out of her sights before she could go on. He found temporary respite against the sticky wall of the metro hub, distancing himself from the crowd and their mad pacing, the ambient noise. Sweat was pouring down his back, dripping on the sides of his eyes. Everything was so similar to his last encounter with a railway station, specifically, Grand Central on the day it had been scratched off the city map with him in the middle of its collapse, as if something was telling him, listen, he stretched his neck to make sure the old lady with the box and the born-again tale wasn¡¯t after him. Everything, the buzzing, the high ceiling and the dusty rays of sun crackled into glitter particles in the hall, the trembling of the concrete at the journey of the wagons under the floor. He had not anticipated that he would feel so much. I¡¯m a child, he thought, heartbroken, I¡¯m a wimp. The air was heavy, moist, smelling of humans, cigarette, drink, it was rancid, polluted, stuffed. He closed his eyes and forced himself to visualize the trip to Eugenie¡¯s house, his home. Yes, it was also his home. She had said so many times that he also lived there, like, forever, pretty much, wasn¡¯t that right. The pulsating of the pain under his right shoulder was burdening him, blasting up to reach the top of his skull, roll around his ear, strangle him at the throat. Come on, it¡¯s just one metro commute, he encouraged himself. Staring through wave of the crowd in front of him, he pictured Eugenie White¡¯s face between the hurried passer-bys, her lovely features, the pink of her cheeks, the indolent drop of the curls that continually escaped her ponytail against her face, down her neck. Why wasn¡¯t she more skilled at putting her hair up neatly, or at ponytails in general? Barry pushed himself forward and grunted through the agony. He went down a new series of stairs promising a train tearing through town, swallowing the distance between him and this Eugenie White¡¯s face. Hasn¡¯t she explained on countless occasions that he also lived there, where he was presently going, and specified that it was not necessary to keep her in the loop of his comings and goings, that it was how roommates lived together? Why bother with negative thoughts, envy, debilitating jealousy while he could just be grateful and blessed? Barry¡¯s heart was flying as he entered through the doors of the last wagon of his train, located an isolated seat at the back next to a poster advertising Cirque du Soleil. Thankfulness would save his life, acknowledging how lucky he was would carry him through. Through anything, he saw. Now, there was a faint taste of vomit reaching his back teeth, so he buried the bottom of his face inside the opening of his winter coat and went into a micro bolting. He couldn¡¯t shatter the fabric of space and time with extreme velocity in his current state, but he could still twinkle, speed things up inside, and feed from it. The darkness of his shut lids lit up with some graceful blue iridescent spaghetti strings and he focused on them, on their rejuvenating light.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. The shriek of the brakes awoke him suddenly and he realized that he had missed his stop by one station. Barry cursed through his lips, ¡°fuuck, can you just¡± but he felt better already, as if he had gulped a big glass of warm milk with stirred honey at the bottom. He caught up with the stop, ¡°concentrate¡± he told himself, steadied his breathing as he was holding on to the handle from the ceiling of the wagon, unbothered by the chatter around him and the chaos of people standing up and sitting down and making space for their luggage and wriggling to let others pass. Leaving the underground behind him, he allowed himself a pause while the escalators rolled him upwards to the surface with a soothing humming background sound. An impatient commuter bumped into him and apologized. His shoulder and arm hurt so much, it was sending waves of fire down his right leg, stinging his toes, it was ringing inside his ear. All the same, he thought. Was it better to stay at Hobbes Lab with those superheroes jumping around and ridiculing him or behaving like overprotective parents? The backpack he was carrying with his socks and medicine and the tea would have to go, he saw, everything that weighed more or less on him was flattening him and threatening his launch into this mad voyage. Both the straps were draining his back and the top handle, well, he didn¡¯t have enough hands to use it. Why was everything so fucking difficult? Detach, go with the flow, Barry sighed, it¡¯s not important, and he nicely placed the backpack on top of a ticket machine, excited for the person who¡¯d acquire it next, who¡¯d discover the rows of painkillers that Alphonse had had shipped from Korea. Enjoy, he sent the message to the world all around him. Someone laughed behind him and he spun tediously, faced the origin of the sound, saw that no one was there. Was he losing his mind? No, Barry inhaled some dried air. No, he was not. He basked in the sunlight once out of the station, let it shine on his face, harden the layer of sweat on his cheeks. He was feeling extremely lucid. Why does one get into a perilous situation, then unite with a crush from high school? For sure, the reason was heavenly, molded by the hands of some good stars shining in the night sky, and invisible, but still floating there, in the diurnal sky. Why would one and another one find themselves trapped into an even stickier situation, then embrace at the threshold of life and death and fuse in despair and blood, hold on to each other in regained hope? If only she could read the pages he wrote as an ode to her inside his brain, Eugenie would see that no other man was a match for his life force. If only she heard what he told her all the time, silently, she could comprehend everything and stop pretending she wanted anything else. Barry had the feeling that when he was becoming philosophical like this, he probably was getting a fever. He had to hurry up now. He arrived at Eugenie¡¯s door a complete mess. The pain was munching at him, menacing to devour him, and he had a headache, and he was furious. He blew some hot hair going up the stairs and stood in front of the door, realized that he had abandoned his winter coat on the way, probably at the exit of the bus line, when he had almost passed out, and he wasn¡¯t carrying his key anymore. You stupid fucking dumbass, he thought. Nevermind, all was well. He hovered his hand on the door handle and inserted in some bolting energy, felt the latch slide to the side and open. He stepped into the apartment. Who cared about keys when you had superpowers? The first thing he noticed was the smell of roasted vegetables and warm bread dough. He had thought the entrance corridor of the flat would be dark but it was lit, the fatigued light bulb quivering on the ceiling, before stabilizing and rendering all that was familiar there, the cup in the shelves that held some coins, some of them useless because they were from Qatar or Poland, a crumpled dollar bill from Canada, some old candy from the honky-tonk across the street. The coat hanger and its under layers of summer jackets that Eugenie never thought to confine back to a seasonal closet, a scarf a student had gifted her ornamented by an enormous marijuana leaf, which she never wore. An old painting of lake Ogle, hung crookedly inside a raw golden frame. ¡°HELLO¡± he heard, and Barry jumped on his feet, in the blink of an eye, seized a boot from the floor and held it forward, blinked wildly. ¡°HELLO¡± he answered. A man was standing there, at the end of the entrance corridor, wearing an apron on top of a black tee shirt, his short clean cut hair graying at the temples, his face soft and expressive at the same time, one eyebrow down while the other one was up, an air of curiosity on his face. A man was standing there in Barry¡¯s own home, so he held on to the shoe, shakily, because he was so tired, ¡°hands where I can see them!¡± he ordered. The man obeyed as if the boot was loaded with some explosives, and he shook his head, meaning, no trouble, and Barry understood. That was Jimmy, or Jackie. ¡°Where is Eugenie?¡± he asked ¡°Eugenie?¡± ¡°You heard me, what did you do to Eugenie?¡± ¡°You mean Eugenie White, who lives here?¡± ¡°I LIVE HERE¡± Barry shouted ¡°You what?¡± PART 4: Ten tables (7) The pizza night table Joe Joe Garcia was slowly but surely getting the feeling that his big strong wet emotion for the person of Eugenie White wasn¡¯t exactly reciprocated. He might have been a little desperate, asking her to stick around after their drunk one-night stand in Las Vegas, but he clearly liked her, possibly adored her. Time spent together had flown above the weather topics, summer, autumn, winter, and had quickly picked up speed to go deeper, where he had encountered her tall standing walls. That woman was keeping some fucking secrets, he was sure of it. What did they share in terms of personalities? A ton of things. They didn¡¯t eat meat, for one, and they shopped local eggs and milk, to avoid the cruelty inflicted on some poor animals in intensive farming. They liked horror movies, they dreamed to go to space, they had memorized some dance moves from some famous 90¡¯s iconic pop songs, they were into Eastern European politics. They enjoyed to walk around in silence, appreciated the weather they were no longer discussing, feeling the wind and intertwining their fingers out of mittens. Sometimes, Joe thought that perhaps he loved her, but there was always this secluded double-locked door he couldn¡¯t open on the highly erected walls, even in the most intimate and shared moments, something she kept shut, and he felt that this thing was dark. But he so wished to knock it over! First of all, she was one of those people who didn¡¯t know her own beauty. She kept dressing in some second-hand garments that made her look older than she was ¨Cthey were the same age, forty years old. She didn¡¯t know how to use conditioner on her hair and she smiled shyly, when she should have shown the world her sparkle. She was drop dead gorgeous, her face perfect, her curls unkempt but keeping her looking wild, her eyes bright, her body, a dream of curves. Joe would never argue against the fact that he could sometimes he a shallow man and succumb to traditional and nontraditional beauty. He liked women a lot, he liked to chase them and ask them out and conquer them, but he also dreamed of finding the one woman that would put a stop to that immature behavior of his. He had merrily accepted to cat sit for her old Terence while she made the quick trip to Scandinavia to attend the funeral of an ancient one passed, and he had imagined that the ceremony would include some bottom of a Viking ship, decorated with vines and decapitated horses and an iron sword and lit on fire in the fjord before sinking. She didn¡¯t talk about Sweden much, or about anything, actually. Joe had hoped that one of the keys to her revealing herself more could be her cat, although the animal was hard to love, always hiding, always hissing, always just eating his food and sliding back to the shadows, lapping his water and eyeing him suspiciously, licking his paws and judging him. Eugenie was due back this evening, and he had prepared his best homemade vegan pizza for her, half opened a bottle of white wine. He had cleaned the house and found nothing suspicious in it. She had shared her live location on the messenger app they used to communicate and he had initially thought she was the one breaking into her own home but, presently, he was standing in front of someone totally unexpected. ¡°Sir?¡± he asked politely ¨Cone thing about Joe was that he had etiquette, he had loads of patience, he was a teacher, like Eugenie used to be. It occurred to him that sir was a strange way to address the intruder, who was brandishing a shiny boot from the entrance with a shaky hand. He looked way younger than a sir, and haunted, and haggard. ¡°Don¡¯t sir me¡± the boy replied, imperceptibly sliding against the wall near the door, ¡°you heard me, where is Eugenie¡± ¡°If you¡¯d let me get my phone, she shared her location with me, she¡¯s on her way¡± That seemed to give the young man a pause, something to swallow on inside his mouth, ¡°you must be Jeffrey¡± he lowered the shoe in a growl. ¡°Joe, that¡¯s my name. I¡¯ve been cat sitting for Eugenie¡± As if called by some supernatural voices, Terence materialized at the threshold of Eugenie¡¯s bedroom next to the entrance door of the apartment and ruffled his back fur against the intruder¡¯s lower leg, ¡°the cat seems to know you¡± Joe managed an envious smile. With incredulity climbing as tall as the Empire State Building, he watched Terence scratch his nose on the boy¡¯s shoes, and he thought he was hallucinating when the sound of a purr reached his ears. ¡°Are you armed?¡± the boy asked ¡°Armed?¡± Joe recoiled. There was something odd about that person. His face was glistening with sweat, and his condition was tense. Why would I be armed LOL ¡°Sorry I¡­ didn¡¯t expect anyone home¡± ¡°You¡­ do live here?¡± ¡°Yes¡± the boy said, pushing the dropped shoe back into its rack with the tip of his own sneaker, ¡°I¡¯m Eugenie¡¯s roommate¡± ¡°She¡­ never said anything about having a roommate¡± Some weird light shone at the bottom of the boy¡¯s eyes, which gave Joe some chills, ¡°well, Eugenie has a lot of secrets¡± Oh. My. God. Right? ¡°Right?¡± he couldn¡¯t help but hope to get to know more, engage in the topic, and Joe bit his lips remorsefully. He didn¡¯t mean to gossip right away, ¡°where are my manners I¡¯m¡­ sorry I¡­ thought Eugenie lived alone, so I cooked some food for her when she gets back from her trip. Her grandmother died, you know¡± Boy glanced at him from down below, ¡°that old witch?¡± ¡°Pardon me?¡± ¡°I mean oof, sorry to hear¡± the boy rephrased. Joe watched Eugenie¡¯s roommate take a couple of unstable steps into the hallway, forced himself to hold his ground and not grant any passage yet, out of principle. Joe crossed his arms on his chest and the boy noticed, jerked backwards slightly, and their eyes met. Joe owed it to himself to at least gauge the person in front of him before allowing entrance into the home of the woman he was dating, and he had to protect that home, but he wasn¡¯t sure. The boy had a wild air about him, something that felt unpredictable, jolty. He held his breath, tightened his fists. The boy nodded, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, where are my manners. I¡¯m Barry¡± he presented his left hand to Joe, who usually utilized his right hand, so he switched sides and greeted Barry on his own terms, right for left, left for right. Men understood each other like that. Something definitely feisty about that Barry, but for now, he had accepted Joe as the greeter, the welcomer, the master of the house. He had introduced himself. Joe stepped aside to let him enter the kitchen and main space of the apartment. ¡°What do you mean secrets?¡± Joe went for it, watched Barry spin in the middle of the living room, aim at the armchair next to the couch, step cautiously towards it. Joe noticed that he was glancing around, inspecting the place, perhaps searching for subtle differences between the last time he had been over and the present time. Had he occupied this space during the start of Joe and Eugenie¡¯s romance? How often was he at home? The words sounded strange inside his brain. Why had Eugenie never mentioned she had a flatmate, why had she never been careful when they were sharing a flirt or a kiss, about someone possibly irrupting inside with their own key, therefore without warning, and catching them in the act? ¡°I was just joking¡± Barry sniffled loudly. He wasn¡¯t wearing a winter gear, on this extremely cold day, only dressed with an oversize black hoodie, and yet, he was sweating heavily ¡°I was a little afraid when I saw you¡± For some reason, Joe found that impossible to believe. Isn¡¯t that right? Joe thought, glad with himself, ¡°I guess we both startled each other¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know of any secrets¡± Barry said in a tone that clearly said he knew a lot of secrets. He ran his left hand on the top of the armchair, along the back of the velvet, sharply looked back at Joe, ¡°you¡¯re Eugenie¡¯s date or something?¡± ¡°Yes I¡¯ve¡­ it¡¯s no big deal, it can be a dinner for three, I have made a lot of food¡± ¡°It smells really good¡± Barry smiled and the smile tugged at Joe¡¯s heart. There was an honest spatter coming from that heart that derailed his suspicion, ¡°you must be a good cook¡± Joe danced clumsily from one foot to the other foot, unsure, ¡°I don¡¯t want to¡­ keep you or¡­ invade you, I¡¯m sorry, where in this flat are your sleeping quarters?¡± ¡°Here¡± Barry tilted his head in the direction of the sofa next to the window, ¡°it opens into a very large bed. It was an early agreement, ¡®cause Eugenie goes to bed early, she didn¡¯t want me to not have access to the living room and kitchen when¡± ¡°I¡¯ll clean¡± Joe said, realizing his mistake, ¡°I mean if you need the space, I will¡± ¡°NO I mean we can both wait for Eugenie. I¡¯m glad to meet you¡± Peculiarly, he kept his right hand shoved in the front pocket of his ample sweatshirt. ¡°Sit, have a bite¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Of course¡± Joe¡¯s voice was a little too high-pitched to his own taste, but he felt, again, peculiarly, that he was stepping into some delicate territory. The boy ¨CBarry, the roommate¡ª stumbled to a chair at the table and dropped himself in a heavy sigh, ¡°just water would be nice for now¡± He grimaced and shook his head, as if he was annoyed at the chair for being there, as if he didn¡¯t enjoy the sitting. Joe wondered if Eugenie and Barry had designated chairs, and he wondered even more: How long have they been living together as roommates? Running the faucet, Joe grabbed his cell phone from his belt, saw that Eugenie was still ten kilometers away. He presented Barry with a glass and slowly took position in the chair on the other side of the table, ¡°you haven¡¯t been here a while, it seems. I¡¯m sorry again, if I had known¡± ¡°It¡¯s no problem¡± Barry said, and the glass was empty in the blink of an eye, ¡°Jesus, I was thirsty¡± ¡°Soo¡± Joe inhaled excitingly, Silence filled the room. He had not launched any playlists yet, waiting to see what mood Eugenie would be in at the moment of her return, to match her energy with the music. He couldn¡¯t help but scan the boy, Barry, with avid eyes, fascinating by his presence. Not only Eugenie had a roommate but, on top of things, that guy was a weirdo. Perhaps even a junkie, or someone suffering from a mental illness, seeing the posture of his back, half hunched, half risen and stiff, moving like he had a broom up his ass, seeing his perspiration and drained face, his hollow cheeks. But there was also a nonchalant thing about him that he couldn¡¯t put his finger on, something reassuring, and the mystifying impression that he had seen him before, and in a good way. Plus the fact that the cat was obviously familiar to him, Joe didn¡¯t struggle to believe that Barry was accustomed to this place and that he must have proven himself worthy of the lodgings, but still, he couldn¡¯t just trust the newcomer, ¡°you uh¡­ live here off and on?¡± Barry tensed, wet his lips, ¡°it depends. I uh¡­ was in a hospital for a while¡± ¡°In the hospital?¡± Joe was intrigued, with a mix of boredom. People who had been in the hospital usually had long stories to narrate, where nodding sympathetically and pretending to give a damn was required. But he wondered whether that had anything to do with addiction, overdose, or rehab, or, God, forgive me for thinking this, whether the hospital in question was simply a loony bin. He couldn¡¯t repress the question ¡°for what, if I¡¯m not being too curious¡± There was a way that this opening could lead to a path towards more stories and Eugenie-oriented details. ¡°I was uh¡­ in a shooting, in Grand Central Station. I was shot like, three times¡± ¡°YOU WERE¡± Barry nodded, stared at the empty glass, ¡°yes, that was terrible¡± ¡°THE GRAND CENTRAL STATION WHICH W¡± Joe realized that he was almost yelling, ¡°the station which was destroyed?¡± Barry nodded somberly, ¡°like on the news like LAST WEEK?¡± ¡°It was three weeks ago¡± Barry specified, ¡°ten out of ten don¡¯t recommend¡± ¡°You were shot where?¡± ¡°In some stairs¡± Barry became dreamy with his tale, in a nightmarish way, one finger lingering on his chin, ¡°and then I rolled down¡± ¡°No I mean¡± Joe touched his face, his abdomen, his lap, the top of his skull, ¡°where, for the love of God¡± he was horrified. ¡°Ah I mean, in the heart, I mean, on the other side¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡± ¡°Where there is no heart¡± ¡°On the right side¡± ¡°Yes, I was shot two times in the chest like here¡± Barry recoiled with the memory, touched a dot under his right shoulder, which explained why he kept his hand inside his pocket, ¡°and here also, it¡¯s my bol¡­ my normal working arm, you see? But it¡¯s fine¡± he scratched his head, ¡°I¡¯m amphibious¡± ¡°Amphibious?¡± That story was becoming truly insane. Joe was frozen on his seat and a little concerned, to be honest. Was that Barry individual sick in the head, or dangerous? He didn¡¯t dare consulting his phone to check Eugenie¡¯s location, he didn¡¯t dare moving. ¡°I can do things with both my arms¡± ¡°Ah, ambidextrous!¡± Joe exclaimed, relieved that the boy didn¡¯t actually pretend to be able to breathe under water. ¡°You must be a teacher, like Eugenie¡± Barry smiled ¡°Yes, and your job? I mean, why¡­ were you at the train station, are you like¡­ law enforcement or a fireman or from the railway brigade?¡± Joe asked. Barry stared at him blankly with the look on his face that was so well-known to educators, the one of the student who has built up a grand story but not thought of the details. ¡°Superhero¡± Joe joked, and he saw Barry¡¯s eyes shine with panic for a nanosecond, a burst of obscure light that gave him the shivers. He was not indifferent to that word. ¡°I¡¯m a¡­ I¡¯m a volunteer firefighter¡± and then he blurted: ¡°by the way, Eugenie was there too¡± Joe¡¯s captivated smile expanded awfully between his two ears, stretching his cheeks, digging into the skin, ¡°excuse me¡± April fools, he waited for the boy to say, but no such thing came out of him. ¡°Oh I thought she¡­ would have told you¡± ¡°Told me? You said yourself she is secretive¡± Joe was feeling a real shortening of his breath, ¡°Eugenie¡­ definitely didn¡¯t tell me anything of the sort, how¡­ how come, if you don¡¯t mind me asking I mean¡± he watched Barry sit back and relax without an answer, kind of like, measuring the impact of his words, and Joe prayed the heartbeats exploding inside of him didn¡¯t sound as deafening to the outside world as they were to his own senses, ¡°I mean I don¡¯t wish to pry or anything but, how, how, how come she was th¡± The keys jiggled into the lock of the apartment door and Joe comprehended that Eugenie was home. Barry casually wiped his nose with the back of his left sleeve, looking distracted. Joe¡¯s head slowly turned towards the opening of the kitchen leading to the entrance corridor. ¡°It smells SUPER GOOD here¡± he heard Eugenie, ¡°oh my god I am starving¡± Come on, he encouraged himself, don¡¯t show anything, you suspected that she was hiding things, it¡¯s normal after all, after a certain age, everyone has stuff that they bury under the surface, you are just ¡°Joe?¡± Eugenie called, followed by the sound of two shoes dropped messily on the wood of the floor, ¡°how is Terence, anything new, anything I m--¡± In a savage half-second, Joe faced her, although still sitting in front of Barry at the table, as she stepped into the kitchen space, one hand on the scarf still rolled around her neck, pulling it absent-mindedly, monopolized by her hunger and the delicious smell from the oven and then, she gasped and let go of the scarf like it was fire, and the red of her cheeks, from the assault of the bitter cold wind of the season outside, dissolved into a white color not so dissimilar from the paleness of Barry¡¯s face. They endured the silence one more second on the time plane and in this awkward dimension, then Eugenie¡¯s voice trembled, ¡°is this a joke¡± she asked flatly, while quivering. Both things were possible. Joe tilted his head toward Barry to see if he would be of any help to his roommate, Joe¡¯s current girlfriend, but the boy just presented her with a brisk smile, spoke softly, ¡°happy new year I mean¡­ sorry¡± ¡°You came here to apologize?¡± Eugenie seemed scandalized. ¡°No I mean, sorry about your grandma¡± To Joe¡¯s astonishment, she didn¡¯t react per se to the remark, but directed her accusatory stare in his direction, ¡°Why did you invite Barry¡± Randomly, Joe took awareness that the early evening had transformed into night and, all of a sudden, he felt stuck, cornered. He must have been busy with thought and taken too long to respond, because Eugenie went on, ¡°I mean say something!¡± ¡°Darling, I didn¡¯t invite Barry, he¡± She wasn¡¯t listening, ¡°you invited Barry like why¡± Why would I have thought she¡¯d like another guy present at our dinner Joe asked himself. ¡°No baby he lives here, he told me¡± She cringed and seemed to shrink a little bit, ¡°he what, Barry¡± she closed her eyes, re opened them facing her young volunteer firefighter friend, ¡°ah yes I understand of course you live here¡± the words in her mouth made it sound like she was saying that he lived here and crushed little baby chicks with the soles of his dancing shoes for a living, ¡°aand coincidentally chose to come home on a special day for me and Joe and¡± ¡°Yes and I¡¯m sorry, but you know, I don¡¯t have a phone¡± Barry said Eugenie¡¯s nostrils retracted, this time, with animosity ¡°and you came through the balcony I suppose¡± she hiccuped on her own sentence, put a hand on her lips, which she had shaped as a heart and a pinkish color. ¡°The balc--¡± Joe started She cut him off quickly enough ¡°I mean you probably inspected the balcony, knowing you¡± and Barry shook his head and she pinched the bridge of her nose, chuckled horribly, ¡°I should have known I couldn¡¯t have nice things, I couldn¡¯t¡± she inhaled sharply, ¡°sorry! I¡¯m just jet lagged¡± ¡°Sweden is only one hour different on the clock¡± Barry positioned the empty glass of water in front of his eye like a telescope ¡°Oh now you remember that I¡¯m from Sweden and not from Spain or Switzerland or Samoa or Slovakia¡± ¡°Slovakia¡± Joe heaved ¡°Or Saudi Arabia¡± the boy giggled and the sound of his fresh and spontaneous laughter sent chills the size of watermelons up Joe¡¯s spine. Roommates, the word flashed on the screen of his eyes, but blurry, with weird colors, like turquoise, Bordeaux, fushia. ¡°I¡¯ll leave¡± Barry said, but he didn¡¯t move one centimeter. ¡°No¡± Joe heard himself say, ¡°come on¡± he walked to Eugenie and put his arms around her. The bones of her frame under his hands were hard as stone, or ice, ¡°we can have this nice dinner for three and I get to know your roommate, seems you have been living together for quite a while, that¡¯s very nice¡± he felt her angles harden even more, ¡°darling it¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay that you didn¡¯t reveal all at once, everyone has things that they keep undisclosed¡± Inside his heart he felt a repulsion toward her which he had not expected, but there was also this sudden curiosity about everything. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± she said but, his arms embracing her and with her chin resting on his shoulder, Joe knew very well, he couldn¡¯t repress the knowing that, inside his hug, she was looking at Barry. His mind didn¡¯t go to lovers yet, no, that, he couldn¡¯t digest, not even approach without a taste of puke basking his molars, but he did see the possibility of the classic double life plot, such as, spy, secret agent, undercover cop. Joe stepped away from Eugenie, nodded benevolently, pushed by the desire for the truth, ¡°I¡¯ll get the pizza¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry too¡± Barry said ¡°If you are sorry¡± Eugenie remarked, ¡°just leave, I mean forgive me for being blunt but why not go back to Hobbes¡± Hobbes? Joe¡¯s heart skipped a beat, ¡°hobbeviously¡± Eugenie reworded, ¡°obviously I¡¯m thinking about your aunts Marlene and Darlene¡± ¡°Marlene and Darlene¡± Joe sneered while retrieving the pizza with his two oven mitts, ¡°that sounds funny, come on¡± he made the decision to take better control of the situation, ¡°let¡¯s have some food, don¡¯t he rude, Eugenie¡± he glanced up at Barry, whose demeanor was resolutely not engaging in the idea of leaving and joining some bizarrely named aunts anywhere, trouble maker, his teacher brain identified, volatile. ¡°Rude?¡± ¡°Barry¡¯s not well, as you know, he¡¯s unwell and he¡¯s super tired, and famished, I mean look at his face ¨Cone up for Joe, he thought, sensing the irritation in the boy¡ª ¡°he needs some nourishment and a warm bed¡± Eugenie finally touched him on her own volition, seized his elbow, ¡°I¡¯m sorry what do you mean as I know and he¡¯s not well¡± ¡°I thought you told him everything¡± Barry abruptly said, ¡°seeing that you are close¡± ¡°What did you say to him¡± she stared at Barry, unable to mask her apprehension ¡°I apologize if I overshared¡± ¡°Oh you would, wouldn¡¯t you¡± she almost spat at him Joe redirected Eugenie¡¯s hand inside his, still covered by the oven mitt, ¡°it¡¯s okay, sweetie, Barry explained to me that he was hurt in a shooting and that you were there too¡± The shock on her face almost made him sad for her, what she appeared to be going through right after burying one of her relatives in a faraway land and having these explosive revelations made about her without consent, but he couldn¡¯t stop thinking, lies, lies, liar, liar. Perhaps she sensed it because he noticed the discreet layer of water conquering her eyes when she searched his face for something reassuring, some anticipated forgiveness or compassion, and he smiled back at her comfortingly, but as a teacher does to a student who¡¯s going to fail the class. He would either love her more or leave her after that. ¡°Do we have any like, alcohol¡± she asked And in a matter of minutes they were all seated at the table with plates and towels and a slice of pizza and a tall glass of wine. Joe brought the pitcher of water in the middle. It felt like a class council, or disciplinary meeting, but for what? ¡°How was the funeral¡± Joe asked, cutting through his slice ¡°Great¡± Eugenie took a big sip of her ros¨¦, ¡°so many people came from the village¡± ¡°They¡¯re still afraid of your grandma in the grave¡± Barry chuckled, his finger following the rim of his own glass ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Joe did his best to appear amused Eugenie sighed, ¡°my grandmother was into Seidr, it¡¯s a modern version of old Norse witchcraft, and she wasn¡¯t very social, she wasn¡¯t really into people¡± she smiled with something genuine pulling on her lips for the first time since she came back, ¡°so she scared a lot of those neighbors that she didn¡¯t want to deal with like that with some¡­ spells¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me that story?¡± ¡°I thought it was a little uninteresting to be honest, and a load of bullshit¡± ¡°There was this case of illness befalling the town, after she sang that weird song¡± Barry objected ¡°Barry, I just spent two days hearing all this gossip already from all the idiots there, I¡¯m bored with them. By the way this pizza is divine¡± she said to Joe. The wine seemed to help her. He took a sip and welcomed the burning in his esophagus. ¡°Joe, do you have any strange grandparents?¡± Barry asked him ¡°You could say that¡± he chuckled, ¡°on my mom¡¯s side they were punk and on my dad¡¯s side they were anarchists¡± It made Eugenie laugh lightly too. ¡°What¡¯s an anarchist¡± ¡°It¡¯s a person who doesn¡¯t believe in vertical relationships of power¡± Joe explained, ¡°they¡¯re fond of thinking society would be better off without any god or master or just any leader¡± ¡°And you didn¡¯t take up to that?¡± Barry seemed sincerely interested ¡°In the back of my mind, maybe¡± Joe mused, ¡°but I like structure. I like having a system over my head. How about you¡± investigation mode, he switched to a hidden agenda, refilled the glass of Eugenie in a stealth move, ¡°you have a big family? Those aunts, that Eugenie just mentioned?¡± Barry hurried to swallow a big chunk of pizza, ¡°really delicious¡± he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. His right hand remained buried inside his sweatshirt, and it reminded Joe of those bank robberies when a criminal walked to the front desk with a gun in their pocket, pointing the pocket at an employee and sneakily asking them to cooperate without causing a panic. Hidden things, he thought, but Barry went on to answer, ¡°my aunts, they¡¯re really like my fairy godmothers¡± he specified, ¡°and they can be really overprotective, even suffocating¡± ¡°I wonder why¡± Eugenie interjected between two gulps of wine ¡°Anyway my father is in prison, but it¡¯s alright¡± Barry said, ¡°he is totally unable to live on the outside. Too many vices, temptations, you know, that kind of man¡± ¡°Oh lord¡± ¡°We are not close¡± Barry shook his head. He wasn¡¯t drinking at all, ¡°let¡¯s say, you know, the way people summarize it: we love each other but we don¡¯t like each other¡± ¡°That¡¯s cleverly put¡± Joe approved, ¡°I¡¯m not close to my father either. He¡¯s sort of an ass¡± ¡°There is a mentor in my life, kind of a fatherly figure, who is also an ass¡± Both Joe and Barry laughed, and Joe threw a sneaky glance at Eugenie. She was smiling too, and it was possible that everyone was finally relaxing. ¡°Where did you guys meet?¡± Joe asked, trying not to look too eager Eugenie suspended her slice of pizza one centimeter from her face with her mouth half opened, alarm in her eye, then blurted ¡°An ad online¡± ¡°School¡± Barry answered at the same time, ¡°I mean an ad online, then school¡± ¡°Yeah I uh was looking for a guest-speaker for my group and uh Barry came up¡± Joe scoffed, ¡°for a second I almost thought you meant like, student and teacher¡± Eugenie laughed and shook her head, still didn¡¯t move the pizza into her mouth. She clearly was waiting for what Barry would say before starting to munch and Joe was becoming increasingly suspicious. ¡°It was quite nice, that guest speaking, wasn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Joe doesn¡¯t want to hear about those work stories¡± Eugenie brushed it off and replaced the pizza untouched in the middle of her plate, then sipped more on her wine ¡°No I do, I had many guests speakers in my classes myself¡± Joe said, ¡°it¡¯s always a fun moment¡± ¡°You tell him Barry¡± Barry was trying to roll his paper napkin into a tornado shape with one hand, which was quite an arduous task, but he was slowly making progress. On the contrary to Eugenie, he didn¡¯t seem outrageously put on the spot or stressed out about being grilled by Joe, but rather entertained. Something was clearly wild about that guy, and Joe was in a haste to get to the juicy parts involving Eugenie. ¡°She was looking for uhh a volunteer firefighter, which is my job, as I have uh stated before you got here, Eugenie¡± ¡°Volunteer firefffyeah¡± she frowned, then nodded precipitately, ¡°yeah that¡¯s right¡± ¡°How does it tie to Geography class¡± Joe was trying very hard to not make it look like he had an already established list of very specific questions. ¡°Volcanoes¡± Eugenie said, nodding so energetically it seemed to be hopelessly. She swallowed her wine in one time and put a calming hand on her throat, ¡°vol¡­ canoes, excuse me¡± ¡°Your job takes you to explore volcanoes?¡± Joe asked Barry ¡°Many, many volcanoes¡± Eugenie assured ¡°I mean not that many¡± Barry cocked his head, ¡°I¡¯ve seen a.. couple¡± ¡°Which ones?¡± ¡°Arf¡± the boy meant to gesture widely above the table to skip the volcano-naming part but his movements were limited, so the manoeuvre gave him the air of a short-armed dinosaur, ¡°you know the usual ones. I just¡± he sniffled, tapped his fingers on the edge of his plate, ¡°I like lava, fire, all that stuff¡± ¡°Especially fire¡± Eugenie added ¡°Seeing that I am a firefighter, it makes sense¡± ¡°He likes to play with fire¡± Eugenie added ¡°In your mouth it sounds like something bad¡± Barry noticed. Yes, Joe thought, it did sound like a jab Eugenie Thankfully, Barry and Joe let her dissipate slightly from the conversation when they finally found that they had tons of things in common: science, electronics, nature, things that didn¡¯t make Eugenie¡¯s heart flutter. She asked a lot of questions to prompt them and launch them into acknowledging that fact and then, they were flying. This was on of her basic teacher¡¯s talents. She was praying with all she had that the dinner would soon end without having to explain that story which, perplexingly, Barry had told Joe about their presence at the now destroyed Grand Central Station a couple weeks before. Then, she hoped, she would have time to decide what to do, but she knew already that her decision could never include the truth. It would either be dumping him (although he might as well be the one on the active end of the breakup, displeased by everything he was learning) or lying to him but, at least, she would have time to fabricate something. After two glasses of ros¨¦ on an almost empty stomach, she was definitely feeling tipsy, so she appreciated the small break the men were giving her from participating into the talk and devoured her entire slice of pizza to soak up the booze. She felt better, and tipsy. As usual, when she was a bit inebriated, she started excessively rolling her hair under her earlobe, which was such a pleasant sensation, so soft, so rocking, in a way, so soothing. She knew her autism was making her stim, but she could hardly help it. And now, she was sitting in the middle of Barry and Joe, and finding herself thrown off her axis. The hair was floating under her ear like a cluster of clouds. What was Barry doing? She asked herself, observing him. Throwing you off your axis, evidently, her inside voice informed her. Strangely, she noticed that the voice sounded a little bit like her interred grandmother. Eugenie glanced at Joe and, because she was starting to really appreciate her alcohol, she discreetly checked him out. Then looked at Barry in the same scanning, undressing manner. Repeated the motion with her eyes. Ingesting the beverage helped mixing amusement to apprehension and the feeling of urgent damage-control, trying to forget that she had just been denounced as partaking in train station destructions and shootings a few minutes earlier. Had she let her heart open to a new person, finally? She watched Joe. He was such a refreshing arrival in her existence. A man that was not a mutant or a teenager (like Barry¡¯s mutant teenage or teenager-like friends) and not a geezer (such as Alphonse) and also not a psychopath (compared to Hobbes). That they were both in their forties was reassuring to Eugenie, and she meant to keep it that way. It had been so long since she had dated that she felt like she pretty much skipped the thirties¡¯ dating to get to the forties part, the midlife part. And discovered that there was no such proverbial crisis about it, when you shared that same age with a normal person, a boring person, would have said the grandmother she had just buried in her little village in Sweden. A teacher! She heard the old lady, SO BORING. You are dead Mormor, shut your mouth. Bo-o-o-oring she had the vision of the witch blowing smoke rings with her mouth shaped by all the O¡¯s. Zip it! Then she thought, Where will Barry be when he becomes forty? Dead, she heard and swallowed her bite of pizza crookedly, muffled her cough by chugging a big gulp of wine. Jesus Christ, where did that come from, she wondered, and she did her best to recenter on Joe. He was a very attractive man, especially when he was wearing a simple back tee shirt like he was tonight, and when his thick short hair was hanging out at the top of his skull with no sort of order in it but still giving a clean cut flow. A vegetarian man, a jogger, a hiker, someone who breathed the open air every Wednesday out of leisure, his body tight and nimble with an exquisite roll of fat on top of his belt, the kind of belly flap she found a major turn-on. He was energetic, athletic, but also capable of potato-ing on the couch, which was admirable. They liked to go on long walks and hold hands and wear some knitted hats, they didn¡¯t need to be talking all the time. Having the same profession, they both knew what it was like to spend the day in the middle of screams and shuffles and doors slamming and bolts jamming and whistle blowing and constant horrendous level of decibels, and both appreciated to tread inside a bubble of quiet and breezy vibes. Who would exchange years for youth regained, at the cost of surrendering that understanding and those wiser ways. No one, she comprehended, she hoped. He smiled a lot but not the unbearable American way which, as a mixed European, she couldn¡¯t agree with, and it magnified the little wrinkles at the fold of his eyes, dug deeper into the big line barring his forehead, cut into his cheeks. Rendered his eyes more serious above his smile. More yin to the yang. Those things awoke a moved feeling inside her heart, like the graying sides of his short beard, climbing up to curl the color at the tip of his mustache. When they made love, he was strong, audacious, in charge, but he wasn¡¯t afraid to show his soft side either. Plus, he taught math and even advanced math, which was really sexy. It was like a superpower only, not a deadly one or one that put someone in constant danger. So you like him because he stayed alive for forty-three years, is that it? Fucking Grandma, Mormor! Joe¡¯s current mannerisms showed that he was fervently getting into it, and he and Barry were reviewing some waterfalls in Brown County, which adventure-seekers could either raft down or climb up if equipped with the right gear, and she nodded to the both of them to pretend that she was listening. ¡°A woman had a near death experience there, though¡± Joe reported, ¡°she got pinned under some rocks when falling on the wrong side of her kayak, and she was deprived of oxygen for twenty minutes, but she survived, against all odds, and she wrote a book about it¡± ¡°Oh my god, what¡¯s the book¡± ¡°Well it¡¯s called Life After Death¡± ¡°Good title¡± ¡°Good title isn''t it¡± ¡°Would you try rafting it down?¡± Barry asked ¡°No¡± Joe giggled, as he was a bit tipsy too. Barry had not touched his glass of wine, and Eugenie could easily guess that it was because he was still taking too many crazy pills at the moment. ¡°Why not¡± Barry said, ¡°I mean, brushing against death, the promise of life after death¡± Barry was not drinking but he could match the depths of someone¡¯s boozy conversation, actually, he could match anything, Eugenie thought, get another slice of pizza, you need to eat, she heard. She obeyed. ¡°Because I¡­ don¡¯t want to die that way¡± Joe laughed with candor, ¡°and honestly, I don¡¯t know what life after death exactly means¡± ¡°Me neither¡± Barry lied. They shared this moment, Eugenie grinning ferociously at them like a dog mom who managed to introduce two different breeds to each other, and then they started listing all the hiking trails they knew that were more perilous than the ranked scenic waterfalls of the state park, so she retreated again into her own hidden corner, drinking slowly and chewing and munching and watching them. She remembered Ram Dass, one of her favorite spiritual teachers, saying: ¡®When one can allow themselves to step aside a crowded bus stop or an animated dinner table, ask the creatures of God around the table or waiting for the same ride, ask their soul, mindfully: hey, How did you end up here?¡¯ Then her eyes laboriously rolled inside their orbits, because she knew they were following the sound of Barry¡¯s voice on her left side. Almost reluctantly, they rolled, Granddaughter of mine is a coward, the grandma had never been so vocal before, granddaughter is a fucking chicken. When Eugenie had visited her before, as a child and then as an adult, the woman had always been sulking, sucking on a straw from a mysterious smoothie in a ceramic mug, not saying a word, sitting in her wooden chair like a statue. And now, she was talking, like, a lot. Eugenie asked Mormor, Mormor why is Barry obsessed with me? Why is Barry pursuing me like that? I always preferred your mother to your aunt, those sisters, they were like day and night, sun and moon. Your birth mother was a witch like me and, my other daughter, she¡¯s always been a chicken too. Mormor, CONCENTRATE! Why is Barry like that with me? Because he¡¯s insane. Is that IT??? Nothing more to say? All of a sudden, the dead ancestor was gone. Convenient, to be evaporated like this, one second, a chatty ghost in the physical realm and the other one, too busy with something in the ether to answer important questions from your descendants. Barry was fiddling with some crumbs from the pizza dough in his empty plate, saying yes or no, the promise of life after death channeled into his very being, his persona. Eugenie was not sure how he had successfully escaped Hobbes¡¯ vault with the indefatigable scrutiny of Alphonse¡¯s surveillance, paired with Uberwoman¡¯s watchful eye, but she could bet it was not through bolting. It might have cost him a lot, though, she saw in his disheveled appearance, and felt a tug of guilt inside her chest, about her initial rejection to his presence between the walls of the apartment. He was interacting with Joe as if everything was casual, simple, unbothered, but she could see he was very focused on his movements, tense and stiff on his chair. Only a trained eye would notice, she guessed, and something stirred inside of her, something warm, something at the bottom of her. She changed sitting position by uncrossing her legs and switching the leg up. Eugenie thought back to the funeral she had just attended, all those distant relatives that knew of her ¨Cshe was the girl who¡¯d lost her parents right after being born, raised by her hippie uncle and aunt¡ª more than they knew her, followed by a selected few who had shared many close years together with her and remembered she liked pink, orange colors, and that she was a teacher, that she lived in Indiana, that when she was a child, she dreamed of becoming a crab fisher. All those people had one thing in common though, now that she was well swallowed into adulthood and preserved from any adolescent phase or youth period of perdition: they were continually bewildered. During her years without dating, which had amounted to almost a decade, as Eugenie was openly showing fewer and fewer interest in romance, her aunt and uncle had teased her ¡®Girl, you think you will find love without going out, without attending your colleagues¡¯ parties, and when you are not accepting invitations from your friends? A man will not appear magically on your balcony, you jjust waiting there¡¯ Well, she nodded at no one in particular, just herself, how wrong had they been. ¡°I¡¯m saying¡± Barry said to Joe, sticking a thumb up, ¡°that was so persuasive a friend of mine even tried the putting AI into a robotic body¡± ¡°You can¡¯t be serious¡± Joe retorted, frowned, ¡°what kind of friend?¡± ¡°A nerd¡± ¡°A¡­ really big nerd I suppose¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t succeed, okay¡± Barry presented his one active hand in moderation, ¡°it¡¯s bordering to like, mrai moumou entity, so he was careful and stopped early enough but I¡¯m saying, it can be done¡± ¡°I¡¯ve always believed so. How old are you Barry, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± LANKY ¡°I¡¯m twenty five years old¡± Eugenie was always depressed by that number. Grandma Mormor had not stuck around to help her dig out why exactly the number depressed her so much so she was left alone to ponder about it. He was so old, she guessed, compared to the little Barry, Douchebarry, she had encountered at school. She missed the simplicity of their relationship back then, he was just a very annoying student and she, on the other end, was just an annoyed teacher like a thousand others. And yet he was still so young now, today, she felt, and she didn¡¯t understand her own heart, why she loved him so much. ¡°Well you sound very wise for your age¡± Joe said, almost pushing her in that direction, ¡°when I was twenty-five, man¡­¡± Barry waited in anticipation, then Joe darted a look at Eugenie, ¡°I¡¯m not even sure what I was doing!¡± he laughed generously, ¡°Eugenie do you recall precisely what you were doing when you were Barry¡¯s age¡± ¡°NO¡± Eugenie replied with a bright smile. Exactly, that was centuries ago. That was another era. NOTHING remembered. ¡°I thought you said that, according to Swedish tradition, the day you turn twenty-five, if you are not engaged or married, the women of your family make you a giant green hat that you have to wear for a whole week?¡± Barry said She forced her eyebrows to remain motionless, and with so much energy contained above her eyes, this was a very challenging task. Sent him a reptilian smile, an iguana smile, the smile of a lizard eyeing a line of ants on the next branch, but too lazy to throw a long and sticky tongue at them yet, oh NOW you remember my country, NOW you remember my stories, you little shitbag. Why are you obsessed with him? And presently, grandma was back. Of course, at the precise moment that Eugenie was cornered. It was Barry¡¯s face, probably, that was the face made by some angels. They had stumbled upon some very ordinary facial traits and assembled them all divinely. His eyes were soft, sleepy, droopy, his smile was wild, it was a crazy kitten smile, the smile of a kitten who¡¯s just learned he can spin around during a fall and land on his paws, the baby jaguar who can walk through fire, the little lion cub who just realized he has incarnated on this earth as a killing machine. ¡°Wow, you know a lot about¡­ Sweden¡± Joe was sitting on his left butt cheek, followed by the right one, perturbed, sliding from one side to the other. Barry was not moving one millimeter. ¡°You see I even forgot that I remembered that¡± Eugenie laughed horrendously. Speaking of forget, Mormor sneered, here is a gift, a memory. Eugenie jumped on her chair. She saw the same Barry who was sitting on her left side but this time, he rapidly lost altitude to slide under her, his whole entity alight by a harsh white handful of sun rays from above. Is that heaven, Mormor? It was Grand Central Station. Barry¡¯s eyes were this dirty pool color under the glow, his pupils anchored into hers, half of his face splashed with bright red blood. His lips parted and she heard ¡®run¡¯. I gotta stop drinking right now, she pushed her glass away from her, comforted by the presence of the table, the plates, the living room around them. It was a just a vision, a snap, ¡°you¡¯re okay Eugenie?¡± Joe asked, preoccupied. ¡°Yes I¡­ m just tired, from traveling, that¡¯s all. But at least my stomach is happy, this pizza has some piquant aftertaste, I love it Joe¡± ¡°Actually, I recall now¡± Joe said, Thank Goodness, ¡°At the start of my twenties, I used to work for a pizza place, then deliver the pizzas on my bike. I lived in New York City back then, can you imagine? Sometimes I had to bang on the accordion buses to get them to let me pass through the traffic¡± ¡°Bang with your actual hands like, punching it?¡± Barry wanted to know ¡°Yes like, in my younger mind, I imagined it was like the knight against the dragon¡± Eugenie got her second reprieve of the night, the feeling lingering inside her that it would be the last and then she would have to start working on the convincing, clarifying, deconstructing and rebuilding phase. What a waste, she had a thought about the pizza, a piece of homemade meal that had been attentively assembled and which deserved to be savored, bite after bite, rolling inside one¡¯s digestion track, and not absorbed by the body in between shakes and gurgles of stress. Barry asked a couple of questions that sent Joe on a path of answers and anecdotes. Stop drinking wine, she told herself but, Eugenie was in such a state of distress that she emptied yet another glass. Three glasses and two slices of pizza, she didn¡¯t run the chance of being drunk yet but, certainly, she was getting closer. She wasn¡¯t a big drinker, she didn¡¯t have enough practice, what the fuck am I thinking about. You are in awe of him. The voice spoke plainly. Whether it was her own or Mormor¡¯s, she couldn¡¯t tell. That was true. Don¡¯t think now, you have had too much too drink! She was in awe of Barry. She blamed him for getting his ass kicked majorly but, without it, would she ever have known his resilience, his combative spirit? The flash of blood spattered on his cheeks underneath her re-appeared, and vanished again. Don¡¯t sweat the small things, just see the big picture, my little doll. Grandma, what is the meaning of this? She loved his face, it was driving her mad, she loved the kindness that radiated through it, she loved his confidence, his goofiness, she loved how the light fell on it. Looking at him while he was sleeping, scanning all the details of his face, she was sometimes breathless, punched in the gut. Such a mix of peace on the outside with a burning head on the inside, beyond the envelope of his skull. The times where she had watched him in his slumber from the observation point of her pillow, she had felt the bed dissolve under her, she had felt her heart melt. She swallowed yet another sip of her wine. She had felt like she was falling in love. And in spite of being occasionally chopped, fissured, notched, Barry¡¯s body was striking too. He had been carved out of a marble piece, without mercy for the audience, without the concern that the shape of his broad shoulders, their wave-like rhythm, their ripples, the arch of his back or the the way he leaned over things could possibly lead an audience into craziness. Eugenie suddenly so near crying that she grunted and made another attempt at pushing her glass away, although a thin line of wine was still appealing to her at the bottom of it. ¡°Stop drinking¡± she commanded herself, ¡°I mean¡± she cleared her throat in front of Barry and Joe, ¡°I¡¯m going to stop drinking for tonight I¡­ I don¡¯t know I usually don¡¯t drink that much¡± ¡°It¡¯s because of the extra pinch of salt I put in the pizza¡± Joe reassured her. ¡°So, water then¡± ¡°Hum¡± Joe passed her the water and said: ¡°so what happened at Grand Central Station?¡± Then Eugenie was completely sober. Listen. She became lost in a vision again, she was on top of Barry and the dust and glass morsels from the ceiling were pouring on them, creating a veil on everything that seemed to be sparkling and making everything soft, faded, a mist of glitter. The sound of the glass cascading, jingling, clattering, was deafening. Listen. He smiled at her from very far, far away, he was slipping away, he was losing his strength, his vitality, the things that usually made him jump around and be merry, he was dying, she could see it in his eyes, under some very heavy eyelids. ¡®RUN¡¯ she heard. Then she lost it once more. The memory was sucked out, so vividly erased that she counted down the pixels that disappeared into oblivion. Eugenie held her breath and searched for it inside her mind, it was a tiresome brain trick that made her feel like she was flipping the pages of a hundred books all at once, sitting on a vibrating swing in the cosmos, but she couldn¡¯t retrieve the memory anymore. It was again forbidden to her. She had the feeling that she was letting time pass dangerously while a lot was happening in the real world like, Joe bending on the table to show something on his phone to Barry across the table. Now, Barry was back and no longer dying, undeniably here with one elbow on the dining table, a piece of furniture that he had actually assembled with his own hands after breaking her old one. She wished the food would erase itself from it, she wished the table was clear and they could embrace on the rectangle of it, feeling his heartbeat just because they¡¯d be so near, stuck to each other, hearing, I¡¯m alive, you are alive, switching her nose from the right side to the left side of Barry¡¯s nose, feeling his smile with her own lips, something exploding in a series of blasts from her lower tummy to her belly button, dilating inside her chest. ¡°What are you guys talking about¡± she asked them, the more reasonable version of herself dragging her other self by the hand like a reluctant child to school ¡°Good of you to join us¡± she heard the resentment in Joe¡¯s voice or, rather than that, she quaked with the contagion of his confusion. She was confused too. ¡°Sorry I was¡­ lost in my thoughts¡± ¡°I was showing Barry this article I saved when the train station was attacked¡± Joe explained. Why would you save that? She wondered, and he seemed to be reading her thoughts, went on, ¡°I saved it because I genuinely feared it was the end of the world¡± he laughed lightly or, more believably, with an undertone of relief. She squinted at the small screen of the phone, which displayed an old photo of the team under the headline, Team of Superheroes makes it out of Leveled Train Station, Repels Alien Droids. At the middle of the picture was the Bolt, the lower part of his face the only thing not covered by his suit and mask. Presently, it was impossible for Eugenie not to see all the Barry Masquevert details of that half of a face but she recalled that she had not computed two plus two back before Barry entered her life again. It was not so obvious to people who didn¡¯t know him. And yet, she couldn¡¯t ignore the skills that Joe possessed at being a great physiognomist. She smelled peril. Why in the world was Barry not saying anything? Just letting it all happen. Where he was sitting at the table wasn¡¯t his usual spot, it was the side which was reserved to guests and, positioned this way into the darkness cast by the wall behind him and the black screen of the television, he could hide and display only a shadow of him. The potted plants placed on and around the fireplace behind him stuck their long stretchy stems out, ornamenting the head of Barry¡¯s silhouette with a crown of round and pointy leaves. Joe continued, unstoppable, ¡°another website talks about some bolting energy being recorded during the shooting at the station¡± ¡°Bolting?¡± she said timidly, as if she had never heard the word before. ¡°Yes and then, this one, saying that the Bolt hasn¡¯t been seen in a couple weeks¡± Eugenie darted a panicked eye at Barry, interrogating him, did you know that the local newspapers wrote so much about YOU? He didn¡¯t reception her alert, staring at Joe without much of an expression, his left hand relaxed on top of the table cloth. He had a full glass of wine in front of him, and Eugenie very much wanted to grab it and chug it. ¡°What were you doing at the train station when the shooting happened?¡± Joe asked. ¡°Oh lord¡± she sat up, feeling the complete absence of the alcohol, as well as the total desertion of the memory she had just been shown and cut off from, ¡°it¡¯s a long story, I¡¯m not sure that¡­ that¡­ that uh¡± ¡°That what¡± Joe interrupted her from her trailing off ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready to talk about it¡± ¡°We met right after that, Eugenie¡± Joe opposed, ¡°I believe I need to know what the hell took place like¡± he looked down at his phone¡¯s screen, back up at her, ¡°right before we met¡± Finally, Barry spoke: ¡°I will say something¡± Eugenie and Joe threw their faces at him, in shared but different states of despair, so he nodded and said, ¡°I understand, Joe, that you are implying that I am the Bolt¡± ¡°Indeed I am¡± ¡°Well he¡¯s a pretty boy, so I can see that association in my mind, but that¡¯s not the case¡± ¡°Not the case?¡± ¡°No¡± Barry shook his head, brushed some pieces of pizza crust from the rim of his plate with his left hand, ¡°I¡¯m flattered that you think I could be a possible candidate for a mutant vigilante, but no. I¡¯m just a volunteer firefighter, so that¡¯s why I was there¡± ¡°But there was no Ladder, Whatever Number it Was, present at the scene¡± ¡°What can I say I.. am passionate about my job. I needed to intervene¡± ¡°Intervene?¡± ¡°Try to stop the robots¡± Barry shrugged magnificently even with his shoulder being stiff, a masterpiece of blas¨¦ high school student restored from the past, reverberating with boredom in all his being, ¡°obviously it was idiotic, I paid the price of my foolishness¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it this way¡± Joe¡¯s hands joined palms in a gesture of guilt, ¡°it¡¯s very respectable. But I don¡¯t believe you¡± Idiotic, Eugenie replayed right away, I paid the price of my foolishness. ¡°I¡¯m a rookie¡± she was surprised at Barry¡¯s attempt to persuade Joe, as he kept going, ¡°I guess I have to prove myself to my t¡­ to my company. Of firefighters. Not superheroes¡± ¡°Right. And Eugenie was there because¡­?¡± She felt their faces madly swing towards hers, almost catapulted. You¡¯re not fast enough, stop dwelling, start talking. ¡°Wrong place, wrong time. She was getting a train ticket for¡ª¡± ¡°Nice try Barry¡± Joe said, ¡°but ticket sales had been suspended the day before the assault for reasons of threats¡± Eugenie intercepted Barry¡¯s eyes, ah shit. She was angry now. She couldn¡¯t locate the memories that had been played from the lowest levels of her subconscious, now, and she was grieving them. She was mourning her nice, Saturday-evening-on-planet-Earth tipsiness. She was enraged at Barry and his revelations, baffled by his forceful attempts to fix the situation at the moment, which were too little too late, she was irate at her grandmother for parading key pieces of her time frame in front of her and then snatching them away. Anger was growing into her and she said ¡°you know what?¡± Eugenie faced Joe, her hands glued on to the table cloth, ¡°I don¡¯t remember a thing about it¡± PART 4: Ten tables (8) The desertion table The Barry she had let in the apartment that night, she knew, was a special kind of him. He was wild, and unhinged, and he was in pain. Once she locked the front door behind Joe leaving, she returned to the kitchen and thought about doing the dishes. ¡°Plates in the sink¡± she had sung merrily as if they were all closing a lovely dinner and bidding one another goodnight, stomachs full of food and hearts full of cheer. It was not that. You know what, actually? I will do the dishes. She started doing them furiously, with the tap gushing down the water and the temperature at the maximum and soon, she became surrounded by a cloud of vapor. Barry had changed chairs and re-acquired his throne in the house, and he was watching her in silence, pretending to be apprehensive about it. There wasn¡¯t a drop of apprehension in him, she knew, only grand design, and inestimable success. I think you miss me punishing you. ¡°So that was your guy?¡± he asked ¡°Was, indeed¡± she replied ¡°What do you mean¡± ¡°He¡¯s not going to be my guy for much longer after tonight, I¡¯m afraid¡± ¡°What no! Nonsense. I thought that went well¡± Barry was nonchalantly using his old paper tissue to make a pile of the last crumbs from the pizza. Eugenie¡¯s anger was angry itself, ¡°OF COURSE of course you did¡± she tried not to raise her voice, ¡°everything went well for you¡± ¡°For me?¡± She should be careful, she knew, as he already had the upper hand, the angle of surprise and total shock. Shock and awe, that was often Barry¡¯s strategy. But she couldn¡¯t contain it anymore, you know what? Let¡¯s have that for dessert. She pointed a finger at him followed by three little soap bubbles from the sink, ¡°YOU KNEW that I had a date tonight, from Darlene¡± she said ¡°No I didn¡¯t¡± Barry shook his head clearly meaning that yes, he knew. ¡°Aand, you show up here, and make those crazy revelations to Joe about me¡± ¡°It just came out of me¡± she watched him pretending he had been overcome by a possession of facts waiting to explode in the open, like it was destiny, like the universe was speaking to him ¡°I was so tired after my long public transportation journey you know, I didn¡¯t think it through¡± ¡°JUST LIKE when you didn¡¯t think through appearing on my fucking balcony, originally¡± ¡°Wow, just calm down¡± he raised his left hand in a gesture of hopeless appeasement, ¡°I thought that you told Joe those things¡± Eugenie grabbed a plate that had been drying in the sink from a week ago and decided to wash it again too, ¡°and why would I tell Joe OR ANYONE that I am a person who is involved with the secret society of vigilantes of this town, WHY would I tell him that I am implicated in some major shootings, why?¡± she didn¡¯t leave him the space to comment, went on, ¡°I thought I managed to get something back into my life, some normalcy, with a normal guy, but NOO, I can¡¯t have those things, those nice things, because YOU decided to invade my existence two and a half years ago and now I am living this double life¡± she inhaled sharply, ready for another burst, ¡°I thought I recaptured this little control and then you, YOU, ban it from me!¡± Just like that memory, Mormor, Grandma, you can be such a bitch sometimes, stealing that memory from me. You showed it to me and then hid it again. BITCH. She knew it would be wiser to gradually escalate into her true emotions, not let them blow up at once, or simply give Barry too much material to use against her, but the hot water on her hands was getting to her head. She positioned some plates on the drying board, begin to work on the glasses, ¡°You planned it all along, all this crap¡± She wasn¡¯t actually sure at all that he had planned it all along, which was way worse, ¡°and now I feel guilty about leaving the Team, I feel¡ª¡± ¡°You were going to leave the Team?¡± Barry had not computed two and two, apparently ¡°I am going to leave the Team because I shouldn¡¯t be part of the Team, or part of anything, I wish to have my own title and my own valuable things worth preserving from¡ª¡± she wavered the impact of her words to come ¡°From what?¡± ¡°YOUR MADNESS¡± she barked on top of the white noise of the water pouring from the faucet. Another night with sounds covered with water, ¡°now Joe thinks that you are the Bolt!¡± ¡°He thinks that but he can¡¯t prove it¡± ¡°WHY did you come here?¡± she dried the glass a third time. ¡°I came to apologize¡± ¡°Convenient!¡± ¡°Sometimes the truth is convenient. Plus you told me we didn¡¯t need to let each other know when we¡¯d be home, it was more breathable like this¡± ¡°Uuuu super convenient!¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying¡± he said brazenly ¡°But you haven¡¯t been at this apartment for three weeks and¡± ¡°Uh, hello! I was in a hospital, pretty busy if you ask me¡± ¡°I mean and now you choose this specific Saturday night to show up and without even telling me about it¡± ¡°Because I thought on a Saturday night you would be awake and reactive and not like¡± he looked down, circled some imaginary shape on the floor with his hand, ¡°asleep, exhausted or something from your job¡± ¡°You make it sound like I¡¯m either working or sleeping¡± ¡°No-oh¡± Barry hesitated, scratched his forehead, ¡°obviously I know that you have many other things, like, such as¡± ¡°Did Darlene tell you I had a date?¡± ¡°NOO¡± he reiterated The glass in her hand kept going from wet to dry and wet again and drying once more, ¡°Barry, I already don¡¯t have much going on because I spend a lot of goddamn time with your Team¡± she decided to stop holding back, ¡°running after you and making sure that you don¡¯t die every day¡± ¡°THAT AGAIN¡± She knew she had gone far and that they were pretty much shortly resume their ferocious cul-de-sac of an argument, and that Barry would soon be launched, but she was craving it. He suddenly rose up from his chair, bouncing against an affront that he could no longer take sitting down. Let¡¯s have it, she thought again. Let¡¯s have that for dessert, ¡°YOU stuck around¡± he accused her, his voice hoarse, ¡°no one asked you¡± ¡°Actually Marlene asked me¡± she retorted, ¡°I said ¡®hey¡¯ you guys, you guys take care of Barry, I¡¯m gonna bail, and Marlene was like¡± Eugenie changed her tone to supplicant, secretly asked Uberwoman to forgive her, ¡°noo, you gotta stay with Barry he needs you, you¡¯re his spirit animal, meow meow¡± ¡°Oh my God¡± Barry was appalled, ¡°Marlene didn¡¯t say that you were my spirit animal, I will NOT believe that¡± ¡°Actually she might have said something WORSE¡± Barry attempted to step forward and place his fists on his hips in a menacing position but his right hand was definitely stuck inside the large pocket of his hoodie, so he staggered, lost his balance, ¡°Perhaps you have forgotten that I saved your life and that it¡¯s how things became rather sticky¡± ¡°Actually I have forgotten¡± ¡°That¡¯s a LIE¡± he flinched and subtly lost a bit of altitude. ¡°It seems difficult for you to go around and be a superhero without getting stabbed or shot by five bullets and¡ª¡± ¡°Five bullets WHAT¡± he exclaimed, outraged, ¡°it was not FIVE bullets come on it was like¡± he had to think for a nanosecond, ¡°three bullets¡± Eugenie gave up on the last glass and threw it into the sink, where it landed with fracas ¡°for goodness¡¯ sake, I¡¯m talking about a total number of bullets!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if you have noticed but my job is d dangerous aand¡± Barry stopped himself, drew a ragged breath. His skin was becoming damp and white, his movements were tight, ¡°it¡¯s not like ¡®oh I¡¯m gonna teach students the layers of the earth today why not¡¯ or sticking stamps on some envelopes¡± Now, let it all out, the truth, she thought, ¡°even Ivan called you a bullet blanket, and then he winked at me¡± ¡°OH LORD¡± Barry gasped, opened his mouth wide, suddenly huffing for breath, ¡°take it¡­ take it back¡± ¡°No¡± she spat, savoring the short advantage she might have, shook her head at him, ¡°I cannot take it back, because I have seen too much of it¡± ¡°Take it back, that¡¯s n nnasty¡± ¡°Nasty? I¡¯m the one who has to sponge your blood every time and resuscitate you every time and sow you back together into one piece again every time¡± ¡°So na nasty¡± he gazed through her, his expression puzzled and saddened, some dark circles having appeared under his eyes like dug by a large paintbrush. ¡°You¡¯re okay, Barry?¡± She raised one eyebrow at him. He threw a theatrically unsettled look at her, ¡°oh, you are concerned now that you will have ttto ssponge my bblood¡± With his left hand, he grabbed the corner of the table and held himself against it, while his right shoulder rolled painfully inside its socket, ¡°sponge me and sow mme¡± Barry went crossed-eye for a second, his face glistening with a new touch of sweat under the light he had destroyed multiple times and glued back together, ¡°so you can hhave your litt¡ª¡± ¡°Oookay¡± Eugenie sighed patiently, wiped her hands on her pants and stepped carefully towards him. Slowly, she thought, cautiously. She thought, this is my life, why do I fight it, took one more step, on her guards. It was Scorpio season after all. ¡°Barry?¡± she growled, fatigued She heard Mormor, you had your say, but it doesn¡¯t change anything, little doll of mine. My little snow angel. She found it scandalous, that an old lady who didn¡¯t even follow her on Facebook or reply to her Christmas and Easter emails knew so much about her beyond death. ¡°Barry¡± she said again, ¡°you need to calm down¡± My little chicken, like your aunt. Barry grimaced and pulled himself up straight, ¡°I¡¯m just tired bbecause I didn¡¯t ssleep well last night¡± ¡°Okay just sit down, take it easy for a while, just sit¡± she opened the chair for him, took position herself on the one in front of it. Gauging her with even greater suspicion, Barry eyed the manoeuvre in advance and clenched his jaws and went for it, dropped his butt heavily on the chair, ¡°No need to¡­ wwatch me like that¡± he fumed, ¡°I¡¯m just dizzy, okay? I¡¯m okay I can still¡­ argue¡± She allowed herself a few heartbeats in the silence, very much aware that she was now in risky territory. The type of Barry she had in front of her, entangled in a mix of belligerence and exposure, was the hardest to handle. He would try anything to get the last word and to make her pay for what she had just done, and she would have to be very protective of her energy, not let him claim victory on her core feelings. Why was she going along with it? Why was she going along with anything, actually? ¡°We don¡¯t have to continue arguing¡± she rubbed the bridge of her nose, ¡°I think it was enough for today¡± then glanced down at her wrist pretending she was wearing a watch, ¡°it¡¯s late¡± ¡°Wow¡± he gazed down, his brow shiny with perspiration, ¡°very impressive your.. time reading skills¡± ¡°Right¡± she sneered childishly, ¡°like you measuring the wind with your wet thumb¡± She doubted he would ever play the sickly card in order to get out of his being cornered by her, since showing himself unsteady and wobbly was never part of Barry¡¯s bag of guises, the reason being the astronomical size of the ego he possessed. Following his manipulative skills was impossible and yet she knew that it was a pretty arduous job for him to track her own mind games. They were at such an equal level of jesting that sometimes, she felt the wallpapers were going to undulate and fall down, torn into shreds by the force in the air. He falsely apologized: ¡°sorry for ruining your dinner¡± She said nothing ¡°it was tasty though¡± he added. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it¡± she sighed again, brushed some cat hair off the collar of his jumper, ¡°I was just surprised, and Joe was surprised, but¡­ he¡¯s a nice guy, he will forgive me¡± He will never forgive me, she guessed. ¡°Yes, as he should¡± Fuck you she thought, ¡°thanks Barry¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t going to sleep with him, were you¡± ¡°I would never¡± she lied ¡°Good¡± he nodded, ¡°cause you have to act hard to get, you know? Otherwise, guys lose interest¡± She squinted at him, but it seemed that this was actually authentic friendly advice from relationship expert, Barry Masquevert, ¡°Oh wow, I have lived more than forty years and I never knew that¡± she meant to trigger him but he missed it, clicked his tongue as he was very happy with himself, ¡°Barry why do you keep your right hand in your pocket?¡± He wiped the sweat off his forehead, ¡°Why oh well it¡¯s my new style like, laid-back¡± ¡°I¡¯m thinking it¡¯s because your arm doesn¡¯t work very well¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re right, my arm doesn¡¯t work very well at all, actually my whole right side feels like cotton candy. I¡¯m afraid I will never recover¡± Eugenie scanned the fake-ass vulnerability in Barry¡¯s eyes. When he was poking at her defenses with that act, chewing something invisible in his mouth with his tormented pride all crumpled under his chin, his attractiveness was catapulted into the stratosphere. One had to be in absolute control in front of such display, forget that they had ever had raging hormones during adolescence. It was like watching your favorite movie star from high school days hang his wet socks on a drying line saying ¡®I only own five pairs of socks, not even one for the weekend¡¯ but not in real life, no, no. In a movie. In a work of fiction. ¡°But you will recover¡± she said as flatly as she could, ¡°you are a¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say tough cookie please¡± he massaged his temple under the unbearable thought ¡°¡­ a mighty motherfucker¡± ¡°It¡¯s my bolting hand¡± ¡°You can bolt with the other hand¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about bolting, Eugenie¡± Her name in his mouth, spoken low and unpleasantly, electrified her. She swallowed hard and repressed a shudder, ¡°you came here because you heard from Darlene I had a date, right?¡± Time for the kind of honesty that hid ulterior motives of a dishonest nature, which Barry was very good at, ¡°yes maybe¡± he smiled with fabricated discomposure, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I don¡¯t know, I just wanted to make sure you weren¡¯t hanging out with a douche bag or something like, kind of like, your father would do before prom¡± ¡°My fath¡ª¡± she smothered a gasp. What were his ulterior motives? One could ask oneself. They could be as long aiming as getting some commitment back from her, and as immediate as just getting in her pants. ¡°I mean¡± he tried to elaborate, ¡°not like your father-father okay? More like a big brother¡± ¡°A big broth¡ª¡± The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°I¡¯m just being protective that¡¯s all¡± Barry wriggled on his butt, acting like he was sitting in a pile of ants. It was not his discomfort that prompted his wriggling, it was the excitement out of his own sadism. Catastrophizing her with his words for his amusement had always been one of his most cherished pass-times. So Eugenie opted for an open heart, spoke softly, kindly, ¡°Barry, you could just not do any of those things and just let me be, right? Let me fly like a bird into the sky¡± It was a bold play. Putting herself out there while he was bantering hard and his feet were no longer touching the ground and there was suffering inside his body. But she was tired. She admitted her mistake when she saw him tremble with repulsion, then he hooked his eyes onto hers with a response that she could clearly read at the bottom of them: I will NEVER let you fly like a bird into the sky. ¡°Cause you¡¯re looking for love right now?¡± he asked in the same manner as if he was asking if she ever ate her own vomit. She maintained her desire for sincerity, corrected him: ¡°I¡¯m looking for something meaningful in my life, yes¡± ¡°But you have us I mean¡± he cleared his throat, ¡°the Team, by US¡± he wiped his nose with his sleeve, ¡°I mean the Team of course¡± he didn¡¯t and he did mean that, as Barry¡¯s superpower was bolting but also, also, fake-lying. And fake-lying, on the contrary to logical belief, didn¡¯t always mean speaking the truth. Up, down, up down. By sitting on a chair in a darkened place in front of him, she had accepted the challenge of this exchange. She was still accepting it. It reminded her of a line from one of her favorite science-fiction books, Ender¡¯s Game: ¡®Perhaps the enemy¡¯s gate is down¡¯ She felt her nostrils flare, ¡°You are forgiven, Barry¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m releasing you of your guilt¡± ¡°But I humiliated you¡± he sounded sincerely confused, permitting her a temporary lucky draw. ¡°You humiliated yourself. For me, you got me a way out of the Team¡± ¡°Is that really what you want¡± Barry¡¯s incredulity was piling bars of frowns on his forehead I¡¯m looking for something that is not dangerous, hazardous, perilous¡± ¡°That¡¯s boring¡± he dismissed her efforts entirely ¡°Coming from you, because you are addicted to adrenaline¡± she pet the top of his left hand like it was the little face of a chihuahua, ¡°but you should know by now, that I am addicted to hygge¡± She sounded the word hijj like he usually did to piss her off and insult her culture. Barry smiled at her with a fondness dancing at the center of his eyes that was so brutal and unexpected that it almost startled her, ¡°I think you are afraid to see the real things¡± he said. His curled upper lip and the flawless structure of the pointy teeth inside his mouth made this genuine reaction of his like an arrow to the heart. Most people would give up by now. ¡°The real thing¡± she said, forcing herself to inhale some casual air ¡°That you and I, we are alike, we are adventurers, rebels¡± She shook her head, ¡°Barry, you believe this because you are so self-centered, it is hard for you to comprehend that the whole world doesn¡¯t feel the same as you, you keep thinking if you ignore what people are saying and force them into your actions, they will¡ª¡± ¡°That¡¯s a load of¡ª¡± He cut her off She interrupted him in turn, ¡°you are so unable to see anything outside of yourself that you haven¡¯t even taken the time to know me, understand me¡± she juggled some invisible oranges with her hands to make him measure the gravity of her words, which left him unimpressed. He looked at her from very down, somewhere very dark, ¡°Oh I know you¡± he said in half a smile and with utmost seriousness, now located somewhere near the top of his game. ¡°Don¡¯t quote Avatar¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to¡± He didn¡¯t look away, his stare meant exterminate. The confidence in Barry had never been any sort of a disguise for actual low self-esteem, she knew, since she had watched him evolve as a little student in her ranks. He was not using it to mask insecurities or to put up a front. He had known that he was very handsome for a very long time and he had learned how to add a lot of other things to it very smoothly, without any difficulties. He appeared in the day like the sun was shining on him in the middle of the crowd and in the night like the darkness was challenging him to shine even brighter. And he was continually flourishing within it. The opposite of a vicious cycle, called a fruitful cycle. And yet, Eugenie was so accustomed to fighting Barry on that terrain, ¡°just because you¡¯re looking at me in a creepy way and speaking so mysteriously, it¡¯s not making it true¡± ¡°It¡¯s not?¡± he laughed generously, ¡°dammit, I am in the place the eye does not see¡± ¡°Barry¡± she laughed too but glared at him with admonition. The hot head inside her was consuming itself with anger and desire and frustration and hunger for the truth. Was Barry right? Girl, he¡¯s just hanging out right now, he¡¯s not saying anything, he¡¯s just¡ª She needed to find something to say very soon though, or she was at risk of sharing the silence with Barry, eyes searching for eyes, and she was way too wary for that. Thankfully, he didn¡¯t seem ready for it either, ¡°you are still saying that you don¡¯t remember when I was lying on the ground and you jumped on me to protect me from like, hundreds of bullets¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about that¡± she forced herself to smile at him, timidly. From a hidden corner of herself, she wished to appeal to his mercy, which was something he didn¡¯t easily knew. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m just¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s a well-known phenomenon, Barry, there is nothing crazy about it. It¡¯s called sideration. When someone is under too much stress, then they forget. Like a small amnesia¡± ¡°I can tell you the story if you wish¡± ¡°The story?¡± ¡°Of everything you have forgotten¡± His face was relaxed now, his stare back to unwavering ¡°Hmm¡± she squealed with amplified panic. She had had a glimpse of it, gifted from Mormor¡¯s ghost hands, and it had vanished again. Now she thought it was, perhaps, for the best. ¡°Everything that sideration has taken from you¡± he grinned like a puppy ¡°I think sideration is meant to take things from you that you don¡¯t want to remember¡± ¡°But there are some nice things to take from such dark episodes¡± ¡°Nice things?¡± she knew very well what he meant but she would never confess it ¡°Well¡± he sat back and tried to stretch but realized the move was too audacious in his current state, ¡°anyway, since we didn¡¯t die, thanks to me saving your life and then, you, right after that, saving mine, well¡± he paused and threw her a manufactured look of uncertainty, hoping she would react, ¡°well it usually uh¡± Her prowess at keeping a straight face in front of his attitude sometimes made her proud of herself, ¡°well often, it can make you feel more alive, afterwards¡± ¡°Ahh, I see¡± she chuckled, ¡°that¡¯s some teenage bullshit¡± ¡°Because old people do¡­ what exactly, after they escape death?¡± ¡°Oh my god, I didn¡¯t say teenagers versus old people! I mean adults¡± He sighed heavily, ¡°you and your compartments. You literally used to spend your days with teenagers¡± ¡°For money!¡± she objected ¡°For a salary for a monthly payment you empty cocon¡ª¡± ¡°Listen¡± he smiled brighter and hurled his hand forward to put a finger on her lips ¡°Noo¡± she pushed it away and backed off, spoke like a teacher, ¡°don¡¯t touch my mouth, don¡¯t touch my face don¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Wait listen¡± he giggled, ¡°okay I promise I¡¯m not shushing you¡± he placed his index finger on his own lips. And there was the eye lock. It required no effort or focus on her part to maintain his stare, and he didn¡¯t seem under duress either. It was just like changing position on a comfortable chair. On the opposite plane of comparison, it was rather difficult to get out of it. She was aware that time was now out of her reach and that there had been instances where they had forgotten to exit the lock above their cold coffees in the kitchen of Hobbes¡¯ lab and people had been disturbed by that. But there, an entity, which was probably the truest Barry she knew, was located. His eyes were blank, his face emotionless, but the pupils were swaying back and forth with the message: it doesn¡¯t have to be a dessert, it can be something else; it can be the beginning. He said some less crude things to her there, too, that he didn¡¯t use metaphors, or false truths, but real words, she knew that he was more tender, more kind, and she also knew that she was replying all sorts of things but she could never know what things. ¡°I¡¯m listening¡± she finally pulled herself out of the lock, blowing and panting. She didn¡¯t know how long it had been, as nothing around her had changed. It was still nighttime. ¡°Yeah, so¡± Barry leaned over, unbothered, used his clumsy left hand to scratch hers, ¡°so at the train station, when I got shot for the third damn time¡± he sighed loudly to shake off his irritation, ¡°anyway it¡ª¡± ¡°For the fifth time in your life¡± she interjected ¡°Why does it matter¡± he emitted a bored groan, ¡°whenever you bump your little toe on the corner of the door or the foot of the table, I¡¯m not like, saying, ¡®you¡¯ve hit your toe fifty-two times since your birth¡¯, I don¡¯t know wh¡ª" ¡°You would if hitting my toe almost cost me my life every time¡± ¡°Stop with this nonsense, Eugenie. Anyway at that key moment, I knew that I was probably going to die and¡± he lifted his head towards her and she felt herself sit further away from him, ¡°I was so depressed¡± ¡°That¡¯s pretty depressing¡± she agreed ¡°And when I saw your face¡± he went on, captivated by the sound of his own voice, ¡°I was so happy. Because that¡¯s all I wanted, to see your face again before I died¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to make you some chamomile, you¡¯re drunk¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t drink anything, I¡¯m on way too many different painkillers for that¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to have a cigarette¡± As she attempted to get up from her seat, he snatched her hand in his with surprising strength. She looked down at it reproachfully but he continued, ¡°and then when you were on top of me shielding me from all the bullets falling from the sky, I asked you to kiss me, and you did¡± ¡°That is NOT true!¡± she yelped, she said, she hoped, ¡°Barry, go to sleep, okay? It¡¯s been a long day for you, I can see that¡± ¡°You hate it ¡®cause it¡¯ true¡± ¡°That is not true¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t remember it¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like something I would do¡± ¡°But you said you don¡¯t remember it¡± he spelled it for her like she was the slowest student in the crowd. ¡°No one¡¯s recorded it¡± she said, suddenly aware of the bump in her spine, straightening it, trying to appear as detached as possible. ¡°I recorded it¡± he leaned more, ¡°right here¡± Barry tapped his finger against his forehead ¡°Give me your right hand, NOW¡± she howled ¡°Uugh what¡± She presented the palm of her own hand up. Barry sniffled emphatically and again attempted to shrug, winced with displeasure. He took a couple of minutes to dig his hand out of his pocket and when he landed it into hers, it was moist and hot. She grabbed his right hand, brought it closer to her, rubbed her fingers on his forearm, feeling some little bumps under the thick bandages that it was rolled into. She tugged at it while pushing against his shoulder. He bit his lip, demoralized by the process but trying to continue looking tough. There, on the top part of his chest, under the clavicle bone, two more projectiles had pierced him through and through at the velocity of three thousand kilometers per hour, smashing four of his ribs and deflating his lung. She tried to imagine what it was like, for an individual used to high speeds such as Barry was, to stand there in the path of the metal bite, watch it travel on the same plane, bracing for collision. Bracing for destruction. ¡°Does it hurt, your arm?¡± she asked. ¡°No¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°No, only when I¡¯m breathing¡± ¡°Come onn¡± they scoffed amply, shaking their heads at their silliness and the surrealism of their circumstances. She nodded positively, said: ¡°let me see, make a fist¡± and Barry obeyed; she closed her hand on it and forced against his arm. He held on to the motion rockily but she was impressed, ¡°not bad! Now, extend your fingers, like that¡± she demonstrated with her own, ¡°squeeze. Now, lift a little bit?¡± she raised his arm in the air but he stole it back from her. ¡°Aiille, holy sh¡ª Eugenie, no need to¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not bad, it¡¯s not bad. Now, give me a high five, come on!¡± Barry lifted his arm again, this time a bit higher, presenting her with his middle finger. She gasped and buried it in her hand, and they laughed again at each other, wide-mouthed and without a sound, like two kids hunched at the back of a bus. Their faces were very near. Barry¡¯s eyes were the softest eyes and the darkest eyes. The familiar and darker even shine at the bottom of them gave Eugenie some chills dropping one after the other down her spine. They were round chills, the size of pumpkins. A smell-memory filled up her nose, from the very recent past, smoke, burned hair, blood. She held her breath to hold on to it, but it faded. He looked so exhausted, but so alive. She quivered. How were Barry¡¯s eyes the color of that little puddle where swimming pool attendees dipped and rinsed their feet before entering the main basin? She was still mesmerized by them and horrified by them. ¡°Did I really kiss you there?¡± she asked out of sudden irrepressible curiosity and regretted it immediately Now he let two seconds go by quietly and then embraced his triumph: ¡°Eugenie!¡± Barry roared, ¡°I was bleeding out and melting into the ground! You really believe I had time to think about making out?¡± Just like that, he had won the whole thing. She whimpered and shook her head, conceding to him that he was the victor, ¡°I was kidding, of course¡± Eugenie lied and readied herself to get up from her chair, defeated, but he gently deposited both of his hands on top of her shoulders. ¡°Wait, I want to keep looking into your eyes¡± His tone had switched to something else ¡°No¡± ¡°Please¡± ¡°What are you looking for in my eyes¡± she feigned to be uninterested. She wasn¡¯t skilled enough to produce a fake yawn, she deplored. ¡°Confirmation that you really forgot everything that happened at the train station¡± She embraced the stillness of their face to face again but didn¡¯t stop speaking. Embarrassment and solitude filled her heart, ¡°you don¡¯t believe me?¡± ¡°I wish I didn¡¯t believe you¡± Barry said somberly. On her sleeve, his right hand was trembling, his fingernails gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt like he was clinging to her. ¡°Why is it so important to you? Aren¡¯t you glad for me that I don¡¯t have memories of this scarring event?¡± ¡°No¡± he said frankly, ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about that¡± Then he closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss her, but she had anticipated that move for a while now, so she snapped her head back and avoided it with adroitness. ¡°BARRY¡± she scolded him ¡°Wow¡± he chuckled and raised his left hand in rendition, ¡°alright alright, I just wanted to ch¡ª¡± ¡°No shenanigans. You want to talk about something that¡¯s important to you, that¡¯s okay with me, but there is no need to add anything completely bananas¡± ¡°No shenanigans¡± he promised, his cheeks going from ghostly white to bright red. Something resembling real powerlessness circled around the features of his face. ¡°Why does it matter to you so much¡± she pressed his hand encouragingly, simultaneously trying to chase the thought from her brain that his lips were so pretty to kiss, and banishing the memory of actually enjoying that kind of activity a lot. Barry looked down, sniffled loudly, ¡°I hoped that we would¡­ share, like, I don¡¯t know, this moment¡± ¡°Share the burden of it?¡± ¡°The everything of it¡± he corrected her. Ironically, he had discontinued looking into her eyes. ¡°You look sad, Barry¡± she brushed the messy hair that had stuck on his forehead with her itchy finger. ¡°It¡¯s just¡± he swallowed hard under a cramp inside his chest, closed his eyes, kept his head down, ¡°it was so¡­ pessimistic. All of it. When I landed at the bottom of the stairway, there, and when I tried to grab the trash bin lid, and those motherfuckers shot me like a rabbit, I wanted to say¡ª¡± ¡°You wanted to say?¡± He slowly lifted his head up she saw his eyes were wet. Not surprising: having knocked her down at their argument and shamed her again, he had created the space to be real, ¡°I wanted to say to you that I was sorry, that all your efforts had been in vain, all the energy you spent saving me the first t¡ª" his voice broke in a shocking splash of emotion. Eugenie pressed herself to remain quiet. ¡°So¡± Barry inhaled deeply, composed himself, ¡°when all of a sudden, you appeared on top of me there, I felt like the universe was granting me that little bubble to¡­ say those things to you¡± She nodded with compassion. Barry went on: ¡°and then now, you don¡¯t even remember¡± he accused her once more. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡± she was not really sorry, was not really upset at the phantom of her grandmother for blocking her memory. Seeing the damage on Barry¡¯s body was devastating enough. Waking up from obliviousness above him inside Alphonse¡¯s van, with his shirt blackened by blood, his stare vacant, bright flashy red gushing from the corners of his mouth, the air wheezing from his breath, tumbling inside his lung, all this was impressive enough ¡°Did you say those things to me, then, when we¡­ when we¡­ when we caught up, back there?¡± ¡°Under the trash bin lid?¡± he smiled through the tears gathering at the lower line of his eyes ¡°Yes, there¡± she smiled back at him with tenderness, simply because there wasn¡¯t any resentment she was able to hold on to when it came to Barry. ¡°With my eyes, I hope I said everything I wanted to say. You asked me to bolt, remember?¡± ¡°Bolt?¡± ¡°Yes¡± he chuckled, brushed a round tear from his cheek before it went down, ¡°I couldn¡¯t bolt, I couldn¡¯t¡­ move my ass¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember¡± she reiterated. ¡°I thought you¡¯d have survived if you just let them finish me off without intervening¡± he let another tear fall freely, this time, ¡°I was horrified that you put yourself in that position to rescue me. Of course my mind was also blown, fuck! So badass, Eugenie¡± ¡°I must have been possessed by something¡± ¡°And if you were going to be there, we might as well have this moment¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ beautiful¡± ¡°You¡¯re mocking me¡± ¡°No!¡± she protested lazily, ¡°I just don¡¯t really know what to say. It¡¯s really nice that you can romanticize those things I guess that I¡­ envy you? Yes and no, at the same time¡± ¡°It¡¯s not romanticized, it¡¯s just what death makes people feel like¡± he paused, ¡°you know, valuing those few seconds. It¡¯s like, stolen seconds¡± he said, impressed with himself. ¡°I would know, I imagine, if I remembered¡± ¡°Voila¡± ¡°Barry let¡¯s go to sleep, let¡¯s go. Let¡¯s watch a horror movie or something. I am super tired¡± He let her change into her pajamas in the bedroom then met up with her in the bathroom, started brushing his teeth while she was combing her hair. Eugenie could understand Barry, his current need to process everything he had recently been through. She struggled to regret her words though, pointing out to him that he was nicknamed a bullet blanket, and she knew that she would not take that comment back. She too, needed to process things. She opened the bottom drawer under the bathroom sink and handed him a pair of sweat pants. ¡°Your Team will not be freaking out and looking for you?¡± ¡°No¡± he spat the water from his mouth into the sink, ¡°Darlene knows I¡¯m here¡± Eugenie frowned, ¡°splendid, more gossip ahead¡± ¡°Those people are bored, believe me¡± Getting into the pajama bottoms took him a few tries but he succeeded, ¡°if you could just stop watching me while I¡¯m s sstruggling¡± he held himself up straight against the towel hook, closed his eyes and sighed heavily, ¡°I feel like I have a broom up my butt¡± ¡°You are¡­ a poet. Come on, sit on the bathtub, I will help you with your hoodie¡± ¡°I¡¯m not changing altitude again¡± instead, he bent his knee on the bathtub, still clinging to the washbasin, ¡°I am an independent man and¡± he bit down in some persistent pang of anguish, used his shaky right hand to pull down the sleeve of his hooded shirt but he got his neck stuck into the collar. He re-emerged, darting her an accusatory look ¡°alright, just this time, I accept your assistance¡± ¡°Yes. You look pale, sleepy, beaten up¡± ¡°There¡¯s no need to impress me with all your adjectives¡± She unzipped him and removed his left hand from his sleeve, proceeded to his right side with caution, ¡°give me your five fingers, heere, out of the sleeve¡± ¡°Aille daamn fuck it¡± ¡°It¡¯s all good, look¡± ¡°Eugenie, it¡¯s so freaking cold here, I know you have a phobia of radiators, but think about Terence, think about your cat¡± ¡°Stop talking my ear off, Barry, please?¡± she crouched at the bottom of the bathroom drawers and retrieved one of his old baggy jumpers. It smelled like lemon soap, which Barry had always used instead of laundry for some unknown reasons. She shoved his head into the collar, messing up his hair even more. Barry looking like he had just overslept and gotten out of bed, his eyes red from some hard tears, staring at her like a frightened baby sloth, was another Barry altogether. Something about the depression swelling in his stare about needing her help for basic tasks, being at her mercy, made him surprisingly attractive. What the hell is wrong with me? Eugenie asked herself, trying to blink the thoughts away. You spend your day with teenagers, he had said. ¡®Cause I am still a fucking teenager, it seems, she conceded, dejected. Even worst, I¡¯m an emo teenager. She gently grabbed his right arm, folded it and aimed at the hole in the jumper, ¡°slide into the sleeve now¡± ¡°I was searching for this jumper at the base aiille fuuck fuck it¡± ¡°It was here! This whole time¡± ¡°It¡¯s really painful¡± ¡°Yeah¡± Eugenie said politely and stood up ¡°And then, then¡± his voice quivered again, ¡°when I woke up, you weren¡¯t even there¡± ¡°Barryy¡± she rolled her eyes, pulled on his left elbow to help him up. He towered her in the small bathroom, ¡°tell me the story¡± she rephrased, ¡°but do it while still traveling to your pillow, I¡¯m too exhausted for this¡± ¡°My pillow? Can we share pillows¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay with me¡± Eugenie thought, I will take some sleeping pills, no worries. Then thought, maybe I will force one of those pills down Barry¡¯s throat ¡°At the clinic, you weren¡¯t there¡± he insisted, ¡°you told me to not be afraid when I fell asleep in the operation room, and that you¡¯d see me on the other side, but then, you weren¡¯t there¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry I was too busy hiding in the restrooms to cry¡± ¡°Be serious¡± Absent-mindedly, he accepted her helping hand to lower himself on the big bed comforter. He sat and cringed, stuck his left hand under his arm to hold himself ¡°Be serious¡± he groaned, unable to rotate on his butt to face her as she was walking around, ¡°what do you have to say for yourself¡¯ Eugenie paced along the bed, now in hyper focused mode, retrieved the laptop that was sitting on the fireplace, scratched the chin of Terence the cat who was sleeping inside his fluffy bean house, ¡°wow, you think I¡¯m kidding. Well, sorry, I was too busy being so burned out after I watched you die with my own eyes¡± ¡°And you sponged me and you¡± ¡°I resuscitated you. With the help of Marlene, otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t be here¡± ¡°How¡± he squinted in disbelief ¡°It¡¯s called CPR¡± Barry scratched his nose, uneasy, ¡°so dramatic¡± ¡°DRAMATIC¡± Eugenie threw the laptop on the bouncy comforter, ¡°Barry, if you continue like this, I¡¯m going to lose my shit¡± He nodded and got started on aligning between pillow and blanket, a mission that would take him a while. ¡°We are not cuddling, you hear me¡± she sat very slowly, as far from him as possible, grabbed her cushion and deposited it on her lap as an extra barrier of protection, ¡°it¡¯s a sleepover and I¡¯m only sharing my pillows with you because I have a lot of pity for you¡± ¡°Pity¡¯s as good as anything else¡± ¡°Tomorrow if you want to stay over longer, you will sleep in your bed¡± ¡°Of course¡± he finally slid his socks under the blanket, ¡°wait, are you taking your sleep medication right now?¡± he eyed the pills in her hand and the bottle of water in her other hand ¡°Yes, that is what I am doing¡± ¡°But you will fall asleep during the movie!¡± ¡°Exactly¡± PART 4: Ten tables (9) M?rbyl?nga * They did a lot of sleeping and a lot of lovemaking. After four days, Barry woke up before dawn and he was not in what Eugenie kept calling his bed, meaning the futon in the living room. He silently watched the grayish day struggle to break and to cast a bit of light inside the dark bedroom and listened to the sound of Eugenie sleeping next to him. He was aware that she had done the same while she had dreaded he would die the first time he crashed at her apartment with the dire need for her help, and that she had sat on the ledge of the window with a cup of tea and just watched him for hours in terror, the tea getting cold, her anxiety rising up and down. Thinking about her fright gave Barry a little bit of comfort from the grief he felt regarding her recent amnesia. After a couple of hours lying in the stillness, Barry reached for Eugenie¡¯s laptop and sat up against his pillow and started typing. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± Eugenie asked sleepily at his side, her head half buried under her big thick comforter. ¡°I¡¯m writing some emails¡± ¡°Barry¡± she sighed, and resumed her sleeping in. It was the Fall holiday break and she didn¡¯t have to go to work at the post office for the week. He sent a message to Darlene informing the group of mutants on the other side of the city that he was still alive and ¡®on vacation¡¯ He took the measure of all the notifications he had received and ignored there, from food places offering him coupons out of fear he was not using their delivery platform website anymore, and of the desperation coming from the green owl of Duolingo after he completed two units of Na¡¯vi language learning and giving up. Two out of the twenty coupons for the restaurants were still valid, one for a stuffed potato place, and another one praising the prowess of assembling sandwiches the length of a foot and a half. ¡°How would you transport such a sandwich?¡± Eugenie asked. ¡°I think they cut them into three portions and stash them in the bag on top of each other¡± That was Barry¡¯s best guess. ¡°Order the potatoes¡± Then Eugenie stole the device from him and checked her own email, finding out that Joe was breaking up with her. Barry was surprised that it had not already been done, ¡°I completely forgot about Joe¡± Eugenie confessed, which was the best response she could have produced, ¡°you don¡¯t think he¡¯s going to be trouble for you¡± she asked him, ¡°you know, since he is thinking you are a superhero and everything?¡± ¡°No¡± The concern that Joe could create issues in his existence was located very low in Barry¡¯s list of things that kept him up at night. Some pain kept him up at night, because he had been turned into such a colander by the mrai boubou guns, but also because he was constantly gluing himself to Eugenie. No doctor on Earth would recommend making love many times a day as a secret to a quick recovery from actual holes that required stitches and even staples, but when he thought about it, perhaps a psychologist would. Eugenie seemed to have given up on her hopes to tame his wildness or talk some boring sense into him. Finally, he thought. ¡°Let¡¯s go to Brown County¡± he said while they were waiting for their delivery. At that moment of the day, such meal would undoubtedly qualify as brunch. ¡°It¡¯s freezing. You don¡¯t even own winter shoes¡± ¡°Hello-o, I¡¯m the Bolt, I can muster literal heat with my feet¡± ¡°So while you are bolting through Brown County State Park to warm yourself up, what am I going to do?¡± ¡°We can go there for Thanksgiving¡± he suggested, ¡°stay at the Abbe Lodge, or maybe even at this shelter built on a slope near Ogle Lake, it has a fireplace, also, it has a picnic table in the middle of a small clearing so when you lie on the table, you can see the stars at night, between the trees¡± ¡°We could be real cowboys¡± she approved. The idea was so romantic that it was itching under Barry¡¯s butt, it was tugging at his elbows, it was pulling his ears and it was bursting with buzzing blue light all around his body, but he had to admit that he was not in any shape to do any bolting for the moment. Of course, that would never be an admission that he would make out loud, to Eugenie nor to Alphonse, who had reached this conclusion themselves way earlier, but it was his reality. Thanksgiving, he thought with anticipation. His heart was jolly. Of course, if he had known that he would soon be forbidden to bolt for the rest of his life, he would have done it regardless and happily bled through it. * To say that Eugenie¡¯s feelings about sex were neutral was a rather neutral statement intrinsically. Having stepped into puberty in the second half of the 1990¡¯s, she had been growing from girl to womanhood as the product of a society on its way to some mild wokism but which was still so patriarchal that she had not explored her feminine energy on the sexual side at all. Already struggling to keep track of all the codes of the world in which people with autism take constant notes and barely adapt to the basics, she had simply believed the fact that having sex with a man involved the activities briefly mentioned by her guardians when they had released she was a teenager and had been alarmed by the urgency of the flowers-and-the-bees talk, plus stuff from the movies where people rubbed against each other, added to reports from friends who believed the same thing already, and some half-spoken truths from magazines she had read at the beach. Only in her thirties, during a long period of celibacy, had she perceived the possibility that female pleasure was more nuanced than just that and that she might have been missing out all this time. A while back, when she had followed a counselling at the beginning of her divorce, she had heard her therapist say, ¡®the fact that you don¡¯t miss sex should worry you¡¯ and then even ¡®the fact that you don¡¯t worry more when you hear me talk about how worried you should be, that should worry you too¡¯ Eugenie was not empty of sex but, as usual, she was different. She didn¡¯t miss sex with a guy because she was seeing things inside her head, she had been seeing them since before she started menstruating, and those things were beautiful and gave her a warm and juicy feeling. She reached orgasm easily with the power of her mind, sometimes inside a tram listening to specific music depending on where in her cycle she was. She had never had the chance to conjure up those niceties during intercourse with partners simply because then, she had been too busy thinking about how boring the whole thing was. She didn¡¯t miss sex with her ex-husband or her cute little flirtatious Chedli because those men¡¯s offerings were dull as hell, pleasant in the moment, with a nice attraction and a nice desire to connect, but disappointing in the end. Holding hands or booping noses would have the same effect. The fact that the therapist who had advised her to freak out about her apparent disinterest in sex was a woman was more shocking to Eugenie than her lack of worry on the matter and for once in her life, she had not taken those words at heart or doubted herself. That was the advantage of growing older, the color in your hair changing, the shape of your face sagging, the skin under your arms acquiring the same consistency as marmalade: at least, a person started giving less of a fuck about other people¡¯s opinions in life, even the one who had autism and had relied on masking and copying off neuro-typical people¡¯s behaviors for the longest time. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Barry was not the same, he was not from the same generation as she was and he had been evolving in a world where girls his age had been educated with more sophisticated expectations and complex needs than just locking two bodies like pieces of a puzzle and shaking them in a bed or in the backseat of a car. Or maybe that was because he was in love with her that she felt good sleeping with him. Or maybe that was because she loved him too. Mormor, of course, had not reappeared since her pizza night discourses, and she had left Eugenie clueless. The Barry that she made love with was the same one that existed in the foggy spheres of their eyelock, his ego erased, his presence just there and just true. His feelings for her were so pure, she could see them when they were together, finally, and they were not complicated. Those times, it occurred to her that his feelings for her were more ancient than she thought and that they had never, ever ever, been complicated. That simplicity, in itself, reminded her of the crystal flow of her sexual onirisms, the ones that fulfilled her during abstinence or that made her hide inside her scarf if they popped up on a bus ride. She was glad that Joe had emailed her his decision to end their relationship, as she had been slow reacting and willing to do the same but he had beaten her to it. He demanded just that they meet for coffee at his place to wrap things up in a civilized manner, and she was considering the day after or the day after the day after, to honor this legitimate request. In the short meantime, she meant to cheer Barry up after he had to back down from his Brown County park plans of next-level sweater-weather star-gazing romance. Now that she had allowed him to blurt out his truth and be honest about how harshly he judged her life choices and how pathetic he thought her firewalls were, what she saw in his eyes was simple love and calm adoration. ¡°I want to climb a maple tree in Brown County and rattle its branches and make the little things with wings fall down from it¡± he said ¡°The what with wings?¡± ¡°The leavy things that spin as they come down from the tree, you know?¡± ¡°The leavy¡ª The seeds?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what they are Eugenie¡± ¡°Why would you make those seeds fall?¡± she asked, amused. ¡°Because you like to watch them, only this time, I want to make it like, a big shower¡± ¡°You¡¯re not going to climb trees today, or tomorrow¡± she kissed him to make up for her intransigent speech. She drove around the city center until she found, rather easily, a large plank of wood discarded on the side of the road, which she hosed clean off flees at a car wash, brought it home, sweating under the weight of it. They screwed the dinner table to the plank, the very one which they had picked at Ikea some years before to replace the furniture Barry had destroyed, each of its leg strongly nailed, fixed, spiked and tightened to the board so no more destruction of tables would take place in the apartment. Of course, now, the table was wobbly, as the lumber was completely uneven, so Barry had to wear his builder¡¯s hat again and think of a way to balance the thing by inserting cardboard folds, a piece of sponge and even a couple of old pencils to fill up the crooked spaces. There it was. They lied on the table staring up, the laptop projecting a live show of some night sky in Oklahoma on the ceiling, a fake fire crepitating and snapping twigs on the television screen behind them. The advantage of a live broadcast was the uncertainty about the crossing of possible shooting stars on the celestial vault but Eugenie wasn¡¯t sure that she would locate a wish if she saw a meteor burn in the atmosphere. Something had kept her from wishing near fountains or when all the digits on the clock aligned or when a lady bug landed and took off from her fingernail. She hadn¡¯t even wished on rainbows or that time she had seen an albino deer peek out from the bushes near the cemetery. She was suspicious of wishing. Blowing her birthday candles and collecting coins from the ground had always been wish-less exercises for her. It took Eugenie and Barry three minutes before they saw their first shooting star and also determined that reclining down on a flat wooden table was very hard and uncomfortable, so they added a bunch of pillows. ¡°I don¡¯t have a wish¡± Barry said, ¡°because I already have everything I ever want¡± She knew he was lying by the manner his eyes were looking through her and clearly trying to grasp a wish. Eugenie bowed her head towards Barry and smiled, ¡°I must tell you about Mormor¡¯s house¡± She described the place to him. It was a little log cabin at the foot of the colossal Kebnekaise mountains in the North of her birth country. Everyone had been there for a summer occasion or two and hated the mosquitoes there but Eugenie had always stood at the entrance thinking that her bare feet and her toes spread out like the needles of a fan belonged there. She had imagined the place in the wintertime, the quick addition it would be to install some window screens just like people did in America, as easy as switching on a button. ¡°I thought your camper was your retirement plan¡± She refrained from punching his arm because she could tell he was already thinking about having sex and he was challenged to maintain his concentration, ¡°I did too¡± she nodded imperturbably, ¡°until Mormor left me this log cabin, and to no one else¡± ¡°What did other people in your family get?¡± ¡°Some gems I suppose, some stones, some properties of stocks, I don¡¯t remember well, people were very drunk¡± ¡°So other people inherited some money and you got a shed¡± ¡°Yes¡± she said, satisfied. In the corner of her eye, she saw another shooting star sparkle in the Oklahoma sky. They were resting their heads on the back of their hands, looking at each other lounging on their sides, recreating the shape of the tucked wings of the maple tree seeds Barry had mentioned he wanted to shake around and make fall like confetti on New Year¡¯s Eve. She knew that he was going to ask her if she accepted him as he was, and that she would provide a false answer. Sincerity was too difficult. Why? Because she loved Barry. Having not seen how she could lose him beforehand and almost losing him afterwards, she didn¡¯t want to know this feeling again. There was no way to avoid the wall in front of which she was presently standing, or lying in the position of a half moon in front of his half moon. Release on the full moon, she thought. At this precarious moment, nothing was real anymore. Grief was real, she saw, absence was real. She needed more time to figure things out. She had no idea that her time was about to be cut short. ¡°What would you do with the money? Since you seem to prefer it to my log cabin¡± ¡°Do you accept me as I am?¡± he asked just like she thought he would. She lied as he has prepared. ¡°I would buy a better log cabin, I think, one that already has screen doors and the air conditioning¡± ¡°Smart, smart¡± ¡°Can you text me the coordinates of the house?¡± ¡°You mean email you?¡± ¡°I want to see where it is. By the way, this table¡¯s surface, would you say it is an equivalent to the door in Titanic?¡± ¡°Which door?¡± Eugenie scoffed, dismissed another shooting star, focused on the crackling of the fire and the love she had for every little detail on Barry¡¯s face. ¡°The floating door at the end of the movie¡± ¡°You¡± she pointed her chin at him, ¡°keep making up things to have me convinced that you have watched it, but those are not true words you are speaking. What¡± she raised her eyebrows to quiet Barry down, ¡°what was the shape of the door?¡± ¡°Trapeze, I think¡± ¡°Googleable¡± ¡°You want to live together in the little house of your grandmother, that¡¯s what you¡¯re saying?¡± ¡°Maybe¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t she leave it to another relative?¡± he was curious, freed a lock of her hair from behind her ear, pulled on it to make it shine when meeting with the light from the fake television campfire. ¡°I have a theory that it is because she knew that I liked it, and no one else did¡± ¡°Do you mind if I keep being in the Team?¡± he retrieved the topic, dragged it back in the middle of them, something she admired of him, his courage in the area of rhetorics and brainstorming. Fishbowling. Snowballing. ¡°I¡­ it¡¯s because I love being in the Team¡± ¡°You love it. That¡¯s making you a lover of bein¡ª¡± ¡°A lover, not a fighter¡± he interjected. ¡°Yes, a lover of everything! You love and want everything, I guess¡± she said bitterly. But it passed in an instant. There wasn¡¯t any more anger in Eugenie. She was fucking hygging. She was watching the remains of the bubble of social distancing that her autism had constructed around her, they had evaporated, this time very well. How many centimeter cubes a month, or week, did she know? That was something, to tackle a real introvert, she saw, and she respected him for the monumental task it had been. ¡°You first, then everything else, it doesn¡¯t matter¡± ¡°Every time you lie¡± she murmured, ¡°a shooting star wish gets cancelled for a child who needs it¡± the tip of her nose touched his. ¡°Every time you pretend you don¡¯t love me¡± he replied, ¡°wishes get banned from humanity altogether¡± The table with the poison (last part to be written) PART 5: Brother and sister (1) Pediluvium BARRY: Where am I? UNKNOWN: Oh hello, Papoose. BARRY: Hello? Who is that? Where am i? Are you a Mrai Moumou?? UNKNOWN: The aliens from the United States? No, I am not a Mrai Moumou. Calm down, Papoose. BARRY: Oh shit, oh shit, am I dead? UNKNOWN: You sincerely believe that in the kingdom of Death, the United States are referred to as the United States? BARRY: What should they be referred to? UNKNOWN: Turtle land. Only a part of it. BARRY: I am not scared of you. UNKNOWN: I know that. That¡¯s a good thing because I present no danger to you. BARRY: You¡­ must be Eugenie¡¯s sleep paralysis monster. UNKNOWN: I¡¯ve been called many things, but never a sleep paralysis monster. BARRY: Then why can¡¯t I see anything? Why can¡¯t I move? UNKNOWN: Boy, I had to restrain you because you were thrashing in your slumber, and moving is not good for you at the moment. I will release you if you promise to be still. BARRY: I promise. UNKNOWN: You¡¯ll have to calm down first. Your heart is on fire. Your skin is on fire. BARRY: It¡¯s not, bu bu but I believe you, you are no danger and I am already very calm. Now, release me. UNKNOWN; You¡¯re just going to run out and hurt yourself more than you already have. BARRY: I promise that I won¡¯t. UNKNOWN: Let me give you some water. We¡¯ll see after that. BARRY: Don¡¯t come near¡ª UNKNOWN: Just drink. BARRY: Thank you. It tastes good actually. UNKNOWN: You should have more faith in the voice you hear in the dark. BARRY: Why can¡¯t I see anything? UNKNOWN: You were stung by a swarm of bees, on your face. They really did a number on your eyes, but you will heal nicely, don¡¯t worry. BARRY: Oh my God, I remember those bees. UNKNOWN: Stop pulling on your ropes, little Papoose. BARRY: What¡¯s on my eyes? It¡¯s wet. UNKNOWN: A headband with some mud and some maple syrup. Don¡¯t concern yourself, you will shortly recover your sight. BARRY: It¡¯s wet and cold and it¡¯s¡ª UNKNOWN: You have a very strong fever at the moment. This is meant to relieve your eyes and also cool your burning head. BARRY: It feels heavy. UNKNOWN: Some people come to our lodges for that kind of ointment, like a spa, they actually pay some money for that. BARRY: Your lodges¡­. You¡¯re a human? UNKNOWN: Definitely a better guess than sleep paralysis monster, although I used to have sleep paralysis myself as a papoose. BARRY: You¡¯re not with the Mrai Moumous? UNKNOWN: I didn¡¯t know that humans associated with Mrai Moumous. Damn Americans, they are so easy to corrupt. BARRY: I don¡¯t know I¡¯m just¡ªSorry¡­ Sir. UNKNOWN: My name is Claudios Ventura Vent Sauvage. BARRY: Okay. Mr Ventura. UNKNOWN: Claudios. BARRY: Claudios. CLAUDIOS: Don¡¯t look so weirded out, young man. What¡¯s your name? BARRY: And for what absurd reason would I share my name with a total stranger that I cannot even see? CLAUDIOS: Because I have already had a look at your identity papers. BARRY: How¡ª CLAUDIOS: They were on you when you were found, almost dead from being stung by bees. BARRY: Jesus. CLAUDIOS: So? BARRY: I am Barry. Barry Masquevert. CLAUDIOS: You also have a French name, that¡¯s peculiar. BARRY: Yes, the roots of my family are¡­ CLAUDIOS: Speak without fear! Stories are meant to be exchanged. BARRY: They¡¯re from Quebec, my old relatives. My father is the one who revived our name to Masquevert, because in Ind¡ª in America, it had become Meskegeen. CLAUDIOS: That¡¯s an interesting tale. So you have come home, in a way, haven¡¯t you? BARRY: Am I in Quebec? CLAUDIOS: You¡¯re not far. Some three hours of driving, and there, you can visit your ancestors. BARRY: So we are in Ontario, right? CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: Right? CLAUDIOS: Sorry! I was nodding my head, I forgot that you cannot use your eyes. BARRY: Jesus Christ. CLAUDIOS: How many men wore the name Meskegeen before your father changed it back to its original form? BARRY: I think it was just my great-great-grandfather, my great-grandfather and my grandfather. CLAUDIOS: So your father is a seventh-generation man. BARRY: My father is a Millennial, wait¡ªI think he¡¯s Gen X. Can you untie me, please? CLAUDIOS: Barry Masquevert. BARRY: Yes? CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: Sir? CLAUDIOS: I want you to listen carefully. Even if you remove your mud mask from your eyes, you will not be able to open them, they are very swollen, your eyelids look like some blown up truffles. You can also try to run but you won¡¯t get very far, your body is not well, you have some various infections and inflammations, and your fever is¡­ elevated. BARRY: I promise that I won¡¯t run. CLAUDIOS: I need you to give me your word. BARRY: I do feel like shit. I do feel sick. I won¡¯t run, you have my word. CLAUDIOS: So Barry. I¡¯m not talking about Generation X, Y, Z or Millennial or whatever tidies your world into groups with cute names every thirteen years or so. Here you go¡ª BARRY: Thank you, for untying me. CLAUDIOS: Don¡¯t¡ª don¡¯t move! BARRY: I just want to sit up a little higher. CLAUDIOS: I¡¯ll wait. BARRY: Aiille, fuck. CLAUDIOS: I¡¯m just saying, if your father is the fourth after the three who wore the name Meskegeen. He emptied his bucket and changed things up. When his time on Earth is over, you will become that seventh generation man. BARRY: Aiille, I¡¯m not following at all. I told you that there were only three men before my father, and you¡¯re saying¡­ seventh generation? And what is that kind of talk anyw¡ª CLAUDIOS: Why don¡¯t you sit up, as you endeavored, and then go on sitting, but motionless. And why don¡¯t you listen? BARRY: I¡¯m trying to grab that drink of water but I can¡¯t see. CLAUDIOS; I recommend.. slow movements, careful movements, heere you go Barry. BARRY: Jesus, I was thirsty. CLAUDIOS: Do you agree to listen, now? There is not much more than you are able to do, in any case, in your current state. BARRY: I¡¯d like to know where my camper is. CLAUDIOS: You are inside your camper right now. BARRY: WHAT? And you are too? CLAUDIOS: Yes, we located the keys in the pocket of your pants. BARRY: You are intruding inside my camper! CLAUDIOS: I can go away, if you prefer. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Barry, calm your heart. Calm your burned head. BARRY: Don¡¯t come close, please. CLAUDIOS: I want you to take my hand, here, and feel it for a second. I was almost going to say, ¡®close your eyes¡¯ BARRY: I¡¯m glad one of us is amused. CLAUDIOS: Do you feel my hand? Focus on it, on the feeling of the skin. BARRY: Rough skin. CLAUDIOS: And your hand feels like the hand of a child. I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t¡­ use them for hard labor. BARRY: For hard lab¡ª Sir, Claudios. You don¡¯t know me. You don¡¯t know anything about me and my¡­ labors. CLAUDIOS: True. Now, what do you feel when you are holding my hand? BARRY: I feel nothing. CLAUDIOS: Concentrate more. Close your mind¡¯s eye, rely on your senses. BARRY: I feel.. you have warm hands. CLAUDIOS: Barry Masquevert. I can leave you alone in your camper if you prefer. But I have chosen to stay for now and watch over you, because you are ill. However, it is your camper and you are free to ask me to retire from it. BARRY: You said ¡®we located your key¡¯¡­ Who¡¯s we? CLAUDIOS: My wife and I found you at the tree after the bees left you there. You are¡­ in a weird shape. I want you to feel my hand, the warmth of it, and the weight of it, and calm the fuck down. BARRY: Your wife? CLAUDIOS: My spouse. BARRY: Your spouse? CLAUDIOS: The woman I married. BARRY: Where is your wife now? CLAUDIOS: She is at my house, but she will be back later, to have a look at you and make your acquaintance, if you accept it. I¡¯m the idle one of my marriage. She had to go back and run a lot of errands, because she is a very hyperactive girl. Usually, women are water and men are fire but, in the case of my relationship with my wife, she is carrying all the fire. BARRY: And you are more¡­ like water? CLAUDIOS: I am more like a smaller fire. BARRY: What is your wife¡¯s name? CLAUDIOS: Lourdes. BARRY: What time is it? CLAUDIOS: Four o¡¯clock in the afternoon. BARRY: Is it cold here, or is it just me? CLAUDIOS: No, it¡¯s cold. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Do you have more questions? BARRY: No, I guess that¡¯s¡ª Oh my God, where is Terence? CLAUDIOS: A friend of yours? BARRY: My¡­ cat. CLAUDIOS: Ah, your cat! Terence is a nice name! I didn¡¯t know his official name, he doesn¡¯t have a tag or anything on his collar, so I called him Kijik. He¡¯s here now, sleeping like a little baby. BARRY: Kijik? CLAUDIOS: It means cat. BARRY: Very imaginative. CLAUDIOS: He¡¯s a deaf and half blind boy, but he has a gift, your old orange cat. Muchly. He can see things in the invisible world. BARRY: People made fun of me because I once had a pet lizard and named him Barry. My friends said that I really didn¡¯t have any imagination. CLAUDIOS: Is imagination a must-have? BARRY: I¡­ don¡¯t know. CLAUDIOS: Is coming up with creative names the only way to show imagination? BARRY: You are one of those guys who answers questions with questions. CLAUDIOS: No. I¡¯m just a teacher. I like to ask questions to provoke thoughts in my students. BARRY: A teacher, oh hell. CLAUDIOS: You don¡¯t like teachers? BARRY: I am not your student, sir. Claudios. I¡¯m not. CLAUDIOS: Well noted. Doesn¡¯t like teachers. BARRY: And Terence is safe? CLAUDIOS: He¡¯s doing much better than you. But don¡¯t worry, you and your four-legged brother will soon be equally healthy. BARRY: I was trying to find some wood to cook his fish when those bees assaulted me. CLAUDIOS: Oh, I know that. BARRY: Where is my fish? CLAUDIOS: Some animal from the forest must have found it and stolen it away, because Lourdes and I didn¡¯t see any fish around you. Just the fishing line. BARRY: You know how long it took me to catch that fish? CLAUDIOS: I¡¯m guessing, with your apparent knowledge of nature and how you designed your fishing gear¡­ a while. But I think it¡¯s better that the animal who stumbled upon you while you were unconscious at the foot of the tree ate your fish, and didn¡¯t eat you. We have bears here, you know? Wolves, bobcats. BARRY: I¡¯m just trying to feed my cat. CLAUDIOS: Lourdes and I gave him some cat food. BARRY: Some cat food? CLAUDIOS: You know, the kind from the supermarket. Have you ever heard of those? You don¡¯t need to hunt everything you eat anymore, if you are in a hurry and your pet is hungry. Although it¡¯s better to hunt or gather just the food you need, and to not purchase anything that has caused major suffering in some terrible factory farms where animals never see the sky and never feel grass under their feet, sometimes, grocery shopping is more convenient. BARRY: I just¡­ didn¡¯t know where to find a supermarket. I¡¯m not familiar with the area. CLAUDIOS: Yes, I noticed that you don¡¯t have Internet here. Or even a phone. BARRY: Yes it¡¯s just¡­ me and Terence. CLAUDIOS: But you have a map and a compass. BARRY: I was in the process to learn how to use my compass, and my map too, but then, I was interrupted by those fu¡ª Those bees! CLAUDIOS: Those bees defended their tree. You should have checked for them before you threatened their home. BARRY: I only wanted a few branches. CLAUDIOS: Bees are known to bite. BARRY: All of a sudden they were like¡­ everywhere! CLAUDIOS: Trees are sacred within the creation, they are your sacred brothers. Bees are your sacred sisters. You are expected to communicate with them to find out if what you are doing is right. BARRY: You sound like one of those tree-huggers. CLAUDIOS: I have hugged quite a number of trees in my life, I can¡¯t deny it. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. BARRY: Actually me too. When I got lost in the woods a couple days ago, I hugged a tree. It was honestly more helpful than I thought. CLAUDIOS: You see? BARRY: I must be crazy to be telling you all those things. CLAUDIOS: You have a very acute fever. In any case, Lourdes and I stocked your cupboards with human food and cat food, from Walmart. BARRY: Thank you, that¡¯s very generous. CLAUDIOS: If you are hungry, I can make you something. BARRY: N¡­ not now, thank you. That¡¯s very kind. CLAUDIOS: You¡¯re going to have to eat, at some point, regain your strength. BARRY: My stomach feels like it¡¯s in a knot. CLAUDIOS: I¡¯m pretty sure that you¡¯ve had some stressful days. Let me make you some tea, I will drop some sugar in it, at least, it¡¯ll be better than nothing. BARRY: O¡­ kay. CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: You didn¡¯t bring me to a doctor? CLAUDIOS: No, Papoose. BARRY: Why not? CLAUDIOS: Do you prefer red fruit or ginger? BARRY: Ginger. I guess. CLAUDIOS: I am a doctor myself, you know. BARRY: I thought you were a teacher. CLAUDIOS: And according to you, a teacher cannot be a doctor too? BARRY: That¡¯s¡­ funny I¡­ tried to explain something similar to someone else in the past. CLAUDIOS: I can¡¯t hear you over the kettle, give me a second. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Here. Your tea. There¡¯s some honey in it, too, to fight the bitterness. I¡¯ll put it on your left side, you can reach for it in about five minutes, so you don¡¯t burn your tongue on top of your other¡­ health issues. BARRY: You didn¡¯t bring me to a hospital, you decided to take care of me, by yourself with your wife¡­ CLAUDIOS: You have a question in mind? BARRY: Yes. I¡¯m¡­ intrigued. CLAUDIOS: First of all, as I mentioned, I am a doctor, and my wife, my dear Lourdes, is well educated in medicine too. Second of all, Barry, driving around without phone and Internet, avoiding supermarkets, your camper parked behind a bunch of rocks, it doesn¡¯t look like you are someone who is asking to be dropped off at some clinic. BARRY: I¡­ appreciate that. CLAUDIOS: There isn¡¯t a single weapon in your vehicle, not even a hammer. All your knives are dull-bladed. The sharpest thing you own is your fish hook. BARRY: Yeah I guess I¡¯m not¡­ used to having to defend myself with weapons. Yet, I mean. CLAUDIOS: What are you used to defending yourself with, if not weapons? BARRY: Nothing I¡ª it¡¯s irrelevant. CLAUDIOS: Anyway, seeing that, meaning you traveling alone and completely unarmed, trying to remain unnoticed, fucking with some trees like you have never been in a forest before, I didn¡¯t feel like I needed to involve any authorities for my security. BARRY: But you tied me to the bed. CLAUDIOS: Because you were extremely jumpy in your sleep. I mean, people who catch a fever usually are a bit agitated but, in your case, you are a next-level dream explorer. And that¡¯s some impressive stitching work that you have on your chest and back. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Barry, don¡¯t trouble yourself. Lourdes and I won¡¯t tell anyone. You can stay here in our care until you feel better. I had to close some of your wounds again, though, with some fresh threads, because they are all infected. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Imagine my astonishment, discovering that you don¡¯t have any weapons in your motor-home. I would have thought you wished to protect yourself against some serious enemies, judging by your¡­ state. BARRY: Not really enemies. I was just in the¡­ line of fire. CLAUDIOS: More than once, based on some other¡­ scarring on your abdomen. BARRY: Are you from the police? CLAUDIOS: I am not a police officer. BARRY: How can I be sure? CLAUDIOS: You can hold my hand again, listen to your heart. BARRY: I don¡¯t want to hold your hand, I would like to see your face! I¡¯d like to see some ID! CLAUDIOS: You can¡¯t for now but, one day, if we become friends, you will see my face. BARRY: Friends? CLAUDIOS: Barry, control your breathing, you are throwing a fit for nothing. You are getting all worked up for nothing. I am not from law enforcement, and no one knows that you are here. BARRY: WHAT IS THAT? CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s just Kijik, I mean¡­ Terence. He wants to sit with you. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Breathe, Barry, breathe. BARRY: Terence. I¡¯m sorry my little friend. I¡¯m here aaiille¡ª CLAUDIOS: Don¡¯t let him climb on your chest! BARRY: Fuuck. We are¡­ v very close. We are all that¡¯s left to each other. CLAUDIOS: Is that so? BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: If you feel like crying, I would recommend letting it happen. It will help with your fever and the overall burden of your heart. BARRY: I don¡¯t feel like crying. CLAUDIOS: It might sting your eyes though, but it¡¯s worth it. BARRY; I really don¡¯t¡ª CLAUDIOS: I can give you a moment if you prefer¡ª BARRY: I said I don¡¯t feel like crying. Terence, settle down, here, here. Anyway, Claudios. I really want to thank you for not alerting the police. And for taking care of me and making me some tea and giving me some supplied of food. I¡¯m sorry I have trust issues, it¡¯s just, without my power, I feel¡ª I mean without my eyes, I feel so exposed and helpless. CLAUDIOS: I understand. BARRY: What¡¯s that smell of mint or¡­ I don¡¯t know, grass? CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s not mint, it¡¯s yarrow. We used yarrow leaves to make a poultice. BARRY: A poulwhat? CLAUDIOS: Like, a balm. That¡¯s good for bleeding injuries and infections. Also for pain. A poultice, you¡¯ve never heard that word? BARRY: No, I¡¯m sorry, I was never very good at school. CLAUDIOS: it¡¯s like¡­ like some yogurt. BARRY: So you spread some yogurt on me. CLAUDIOS: Some yarrow yogurt, yes. BARRY: Is that a drug? CLAUDIOS: Yarrow? No, yarrow is a plant. BARRY: You are an Ind¡ª You are Native American! CLAUDIOS: It took you long enough. BARRY: When you say that you are a doctor, you mean¡ª CLAUDIOS: I am a medicine man. My wife is also a medicine woman but strongly on the healer side. BARRY: That¡¯s¡­ actually very cool. CLAUDIOS: You are not the only one with the trust issues towards the people who staff the institutions around here. BARRY: That¡¯s why you called me¡­ Papoose. CLAUDIOS: Your Papoose legs will be tired after trying to run after your brain and your brain is faster. BARRY: Are we on a¡­ reservation? CLAUDIOS: Your camper is presently hiding in Caldwell First Nation Sacred Grounds. I am a shaman for the Uskansi Clan, a branch of the Objiwe Tribe, itself part of the Chippewa. BARRY: I thought there were only Chippewa people in the United States. CLAUDIOS: Oh, you¡¯re going to be whitesplaining now? BARRY: NO sir! I would.. I would never! CLAUDIOS: Relax, Barry, I¡¯m joking! But, to answer your question, actually, some borders, from colonizers, have separated at random the parts of what is simply Turtle Island. BARRY: Turtle Island? CLAUDIOS: North America. BARRY: How do you say thank you in your language? CLAUDIOS: Miigwesh. BARRY: Miigwesh, then. A thousand times miigwesh. You know I have a little bit of pain, but not a lot. It¡¯s really unusual. Its really wild! CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s the secret of the yarrow, especially when it comes to inflamed tissues. BARRY: It¡¯s amazing. CLAUDIOS: So what happened to you? BARRY: Am I obligated to tell you? CLAUDIOS: You are not. I¡¯m just curious, in case we do become friends. And since you have nowhere else to go, I have a feeling that we will. I¡¯m just making conversation until my wife returns to us. BARRY: And then what will happen? CLAUDIOS: She will bring some vitamin C, just to give you a boost. It¡¯s winter right now, we don¡¯t have a lot of vitamin C available so she had to go to the pharma¡ª Ah, you mean, what will happen eventually? It¡¯s up to you Barry. Lourdes is driving her own camper. We could sleep here, stationed next to you, to guard you, or we could leave you alone. BARRY: I¡­ I don¡¯t know. How far do you guys live? CLAUDIOS: Some twenty minutes away. I had to find a good hiding spot for you. Spoiler alert this forest is not very big, it¡¯s not like you¡¯ve dropped yourself in the Appalachians or anything. There are a lot of runways and flyways through those woods. And swimways, too. BARRY: Thanks a million. CLAUDIOS: You seem well accustomed to thanksgiving. BARRY: Sure. I think I¡¯ll be alright, on my own. CLAUDIOS: Ha! I doubt that but okay. So, are you keen to tell me how you ended up here with some bullet wounds? BARRY: I was uh¡­ shot multiple times, a month ago. CLAUDIOS: Wow. I thought you were going to say, lawn-mowing freak accident. BARRY: Don¡¯t make fun of me, please, it¡¯s been¡­ difficult and frustrating and depressing and horrible. CLAUDIOS: And prior to that, you were shot in the stomach, too. BARRY: You don¡¯t have to say it like that like I keep get¡ª CLAUDIOS: And some less expert hands treated you, then, seeing that the scar above your belly button looks like a scalpel was given to a five-year old in a candy rush. BARRY: I don¡¯t think I want to talk about this with you. CLAUDIOS: Are you a criminal? BARRY: No! CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s my turn asking you some questions, now, Barry. You understand, I need to make sure I am confident about the person I¡¯m harboring. BARRY: I get that. CLAUDIOS: Are you in trouble right now? BARRY: Not anymore, thanks to you. CLAUDIOS: With the law? BARRY: Not¡­ not in Canada. I suppose if I stay under the radar. CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: Are you nodding again? CLAUDIOS: Yes! I¡¯m sorry, I keep forgetting.. You made the crossing to Odawa with a pet, that¡¯s not easy. BARRY: Well, he has all the documentation, his rabies vaccinations, all that, and he is micro-chipped. CLAUDIOS: Good for you. I have a good first impression about you, Barry, and so does Lourdes. You seem harmless and very isolated. BARRY: Uugh, harmless and isolated. CLAUDIOS: You are fleeing something from across the border, am I right? BARRY: Flagrantly, yes. CLAUDIOS: As a matter of fact, you are fleeing something that doesn¡¯t have anything to do with your injuries, am I mistaken? BARRY: You are not mistaken. I was just minding my own business, recovering nicely from this uh¡­ incident, I mean, shooting and¡­ something happened, I had to act fast and then¡­ I had to run. I was still in the process of getting better. CLAUDIOS: Like a clusterfuck. BARRY: Yiiyes? CLAUDIOS: Oh, you¡¯re laughing too now! Good! We are switching the mood here, a little bit. BARRY: It¡¯s just¡­ I was searching for a word to describe all this and¡­ you nailed it. Clusterfuck. Hey, I¡¯ve never met a shaman before. CLAUDIOS: I¡¯ve never met someone who got shot before, especially so many times. BARRY: I¡¯m really trying not to get offended, right now. CLAUDIOS: All my apologies, I have a bit of a dry humor. I aspire to brighten your spirits and give you hope again, nothing more. BARRY: Who said that I have lost hope? CLAUDIOS: You haven¡¯t found yourself in a state of hopelessness? BARRY: I¡¯m really doing my best to avoid it. If¡­ CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: I mean if¡­ CLAUDIOS: ¡­ BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Why don¡¯t you say what you wish to say, Papoose? BARRY: If you so kindly offer your help, I will get better here, very quickly, and then, when the time is right, in the near future, I¡¯ll be on my way. CLAUDIOS: You mean to tell me that you have a plan? BARRY: I have to go back to the St¡ª Other side of that border that arbitrary cuts through the turtle world. CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s Turtle Island. BARRY: Right, Turtle Island. CLAUDIOS: Is your heart infused with some projects of revenge? BARRY: Revenge! Hell no. Revenge is not my thing. No I¡­ have to retrieve something there, when the time is right. CLAUDIOS: The near future that you are talking about? BARRY: I don¡¯t know exactly when the time will be right. CLAUDIOS: It could be weeks. BARRY: It could actually be¡­ even longer. But it doesn¡¯t matter, I¡¯m keeping my hopes up. CLAUDIOS: That something you need to go back to the States to retrieve. Is that a woman? BARRY: Claudios, I mean no disrespect, but I just met you, and I can¡¯t even see your face right now. I can¡¯t just¡­ go ahead and divulge all my plan to you. It¡¯s too important for me. CLAUDIOS: Totally fair. But you should stay with us, at First Nation. Our people will teach you how to live in nature, avoid detection, stay cozy with your cat. We could teach you a thing or two in addition to that. BARRY: Wow, just like that? CLAUDIOS: If I had found you just passed out from the bees, I would have deemed you any typical specimen of the dumb American tourist crowd, and you¡¯d be at a doctor¡¯s office right now and I would have already forgotten about you. But seeing the rest of you and the state that you are in and¡­ your empty camper, I think that it is compelling that I should be of assistance to you. BARRY: So you are saying¡­ Because I have been shot like a rabbit, like¡ª CLAUDIOS: Consider this your blessing in disguise. BARRY: I¡¯m speechless. It¡¯s not the first time that this happens to me. CLAUDIOS: The Papoose has stories! BARRY: What are you expecting in return? CLAUDIOS: I expect that you don¡¯t burn my trees or chase the bees of my forest away from their hive. BARRY: I didn¡¯t chase them away, they att¡ª CLAUDIOS: You freaked the bees out. BARRY: You sound just like Neyti¡ª I mean, alright, alright, no more freaking bees out. I will never hurt any of your trees, I swear. CLAUDIOS: I expect another thing, Barry. BARRY: I¡¯m listening. CLAUDIOS: Before I announce that thing, you should have a sip of your tea. You are becoming very pale and tired. BARRY: I don¡¯t feel tired. And it¡¯s not polite to comment on my whiteness. CLAUDIOS: Papoose has humor too, I knew it. BARRY: That tea is good. Thank you. Miguelesh. CLAUDIOS: We will also teach you our tongue, but there is no rush. Anyway Barry, you should know something about me. You don¡¯t become the shaman of a clan in our world just because you sit on the grass and study some herbs and you do an internship. I see things. BARRY: And you see¡­ me? CLAUDIOS: What¡¯s so funny? Why are you giggling? BARRY: Nothing I¡¯m¡ª Oh my God, I¡¯m so sorry. It just reminds me of a mov¡ª You remind me of someone. Someone I love. CLAUDIOS: Drink more tea, you need sugar in your system! BARRY: Someone I love dearly. CLAUDIOS: I know. BARRY: You do? CLAUDIOS: When I mentioned that I had a good feeling about you, it¡¯s not just a gut feeling, it¡¯s not just my intuition. Everything is connected, everywhere you look, I mean¡ª Everywhere you will look when you recover your normal eyesight, everywhere you listen, everywhere you walk. Maybe, one day, you will see those connections for yourself. We have ways to educate you to see the invisible, the web under your feet, the network in the sky, the big strong and pumping heart of mother Earth. You can feel all this, if you open to it. It can heal you. BARRY: You mean like magic mushrooms? CLAUDIOS: I will ignore that comment for now. When I see you, I see the color blue, I see it all over you, dancing like the flames of a fire. I see some feeble strings of blue light or, at least, a residue of them. There used to be this light, in you, but now, it¡¯s gone. However it¡¯s still inhabiting you, the ghost of it. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: Have you ever heard of the Gitchi Manitou? BARRY: The murders that happened in Iowa? CLAUDIOS: Holl¡®ly. Which murders are you alluding to? I¡¯m not familiar. BARRY: Hm. There were five teenagers playing the guitar at a campfire who were slaughtered by three killers, kids themselves, you¡¯ve never heard of them? CLAUDIOS: When did it take place? BARRY: I think in the 70¡¯s. CLAUDIOS: I don¡¯t recall. BARRY: I mean, one of the teenagers was spared, a girl, and the youngest of the gathering. The murderers even dropped that girl home that night so, of course, she told on them and they got arrested and are now spending the rest of their lives in prison. I have never understood the whys and hows of this case and its randomness. CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s scarier without a motive. BARRY: I¡­ remember that quote. CLAUDIOS: Yes, my wife¡¯s favorite film genre is horror. BARRY: Regardless, this Gitchi Manitou This is the dumbest thing I¡¯ve ever heard and it fascinated me. And now, the site where those murders happened is now one of the most haunted places in Iowa. CLAUDIOS: Confused spirits. BARRY: Or they are pissed off. CLAUDIOS: Enthralling. You don¡¯t strike me as a true crime nut. BARRY: Aha! There are things that your shamanic third eye doesn¡¯t see! CLAUDIOS: Whatever, boy. Anyway, Gitchi Manitou is our creator. The last thing he created is a man whose name is Nanabozo. After a great flood, he found himself drifting on the back of a massive turtle and he¡¯s actually the guy who hired a bunch of animals to dive as deep as they could and reach the bottom of the sea to fetch some dirt, thinking that spreading the dirt on the shell of the turtle will create a new land on which to live and feed, and rebuild. BARRY: A flood? CLAUDIOS: Yes, cleansing floods show up here and there in all stories of how everything came to be, not just ours. Whatever the case, in the floating and barely-hanging-on situation and following the idea from Nanabozo, a walrus and a beaver made the brave descent to get to the bottom and rake up that dirt but it was too deep and they couldn¡¯t hold their breaths long enough for that. Thirdly, a muskrat tried and drowned for it, but as he died, he brought the tiniest pinch of soil from the sea floor back to the surface, and that¡¯s how the Americas were born. BARRY: What a lazy ass bum, that Nanaz, Nabaz¡ª CLAUDIOS: Nanabozo. BARRY: Yeah, why doesn¡¯t he dive and get his own dirt? CLAUDIOS: Within the creation, humans haven¡¯t been equipped with enough lung capacity, nor webbed feet, nor the talent at swimming that walruses and beavers possess. BARRY: Ah, of course, sorry. CLAUDIOS: Everyone has their strengths and uses, in this world, and diving deep into the water isn¡¯t a human one. BARRY: I know he¡¯s deaf and he can¡¯t hear you but I¡¯m pretty sure that Terence is purring right now. CLAUDIOS: As I said, there is more than just what you can hear with your ears and see with your open eyes and smell with your nose. BARRY: A secret web. CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s not secret. We have attempted to share this information with the White man before, but the White man has always refused to believe it. It¡¯s the White man¡¯s loss. He prefers all things scientific and Cartesian. BARRY: And all things lucrative. CLAUDIOS: Listen to yourself, already speaking like a real forest Papoose. Is your father alive? BARRY: Alive? Yes. CLAUDIOS: He should be proud of you. BARRY: But we are estranged. CLAUDIOS: And your mother? BARRY: I¡¯ve never met my mother, she left me and my father when I was born, but she was the one who named me Barry, before she bailed out. CLAUDIOS: You know that Barack Obama¡¯s nickname when he was a groovy universitarian was Barry? BARRY: BARACK OBAMA? CLAUDIOS: Yes, you don¡¯t like him? BARRY: I don¡¯t hate him. CLAUDIOS: So your mother gave you your first name and your father restored your last name. Fantastic! BARRY: I¡¯ll grant you that your enthusiasm about things is contagious. CLAUDIOS: When I was talking about your father earlier, Barry Masquevert, being a seventh generation man, it has nothing to do with time periods or culture. It means that three men before your father had their way and he put an end to it. This novel way, you and the two following generations, your children to come and their children, will have a bucket that¡¯s empty of the poisoned things that the three generations before your father carried with them. And when he leaves this Earth to merge with Gitchi Manitou again, your father will concede his seventh generation spot to you, to continue making space in that bucket, for better things. BARRY: What if I don¡¯t have children? CLAUDIOS: You¡¯re not grasping the crux, it¡¯s an image. You think Jesus really did all those things with the wine and the water? BARRY: You don¡¯t believe in your own stories of creation? CLAUDIOS: No I do. But you shouldn¡¯t approach them with a lingering on the details, like the question of your own parenthood. Consider it a metaphor. BARRY: So you do think that Jesus is the son of God and he walked on water? CLAUDIOS: I don¡¯t know, the story exists, so¡ª I¡¯m shrugging, for your information. BARRY: Thank you for the didascalie. CLAUDIOS: The point it, it means whatever estranged you from your father, or him from you, doesn¡¯t have to end up in blame. To each man his bucket to empty. We are all doing our best on this planet, Barry. BARRY: Don¡¯t point your finger at me like a teacher, I wasn¡¯t going to criticize my father! He did a pretty good job raising me, actually. CLAUDIOS: You can see without your eyes as well! BARRY: I¡¯m hearing it in the tone of your voice, that you are pointing your finger at me. CLAUDIOS: Your father is a teacher too? BARRY: No. CLAUDIOS: You are quite familiar with the ways of teachers. So much that you can assume my moves from my intonations. BARRY: I¡¯ve had a lot of teachers in my life. CLAUDIOS: And I have had a lot of mailmen. BARRY: I¡¯m very¡­ observant of teachers. CLAUDIOS: And yet you don¡¯t cherish them. BARRY: It¡¯s not important right now. CLAUDIOS: I am pleased to hear that you don¡¯t resent your father for whatever pushed you apart from each other. BARRY: Still, I don¡¯t follow your Nana... your narration. CLAUDIOS: Ah, yes, I was almost going to forget that part! My old brain. It¡¯s the best part, Barry. You remind me of Nanabozo. He has the reputation to be a trickster, always starving, always thirsty, always bouncing around, always getting in trouble. I don¡¯t think you are comprehending when I say he was the last thing the creator sent down to Earth and he was a man, I don¡¯t mean it in a bad way. He¡¯s¡ª how do you young people say it, nowadays? He¡¯s just iconic. BARRY: So not a bad man, but a troublemaker. CLAUDIOS: Nanabozo is an individual with a lot of curiosity¡ª BARRY: And curiosity killed the cat, I get it, I get it. CLAUDIOS: Not yet, Papoose. ¨Ca curious man, and a lot of people are fatigued by his constant high level of energy and his thirst for adventure, but he is also the most courageous of all. He¡¯s the one who went to the Thunders to inform them that they were storming too hard and drenching the land excessively, and the Thunders listened to him. Everyone else was too scared to go to them just to have this nice discussion, but he had the cojones¡ª Sorry, my wife is a Latina. I mean he had the courage that no one had. BARRY: The thunders. CLAUDIOS: Does that¡­ resonate with you? BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: I¡¯m still convinced that you should cry a good cry, mourn your mournings, grieve your grief. BARRY: It¡¯s not necessary. CLAUDIOS: The reason why Nanabozo¡¯s figure is so quintessential is because he just¡­ he simply accomplished some great things. Valuable for the balance of life. BARRY: What a pep talk. CLAUDIOS: I think you and I are going to be friends. Not teacher and pupil, no, don¡¯t be frightened, but friends. Because I am sure that you will also teach me many things. And I will help you with your mysterious plans, and you don¡¯t even have to reveal them to me. BARRY: And your people will agree that I stay with them, on their territory? CLAUDIOS: Of course they will! BARRY: That¡¯s crazy. CLAUDIOS: We are a very chill group of people. BARRY: What if I end up not teaching you anything? CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s not a condition to my hospitality. I¡¯ve listed what I expect from you before and there is nothing else. One dish, one spoon. BARRY: One dish, one spoon? CLAUDIOS: Or, like modern Americans say in their stup¡ª I mean in their Kindergarten schools, ¡®Sharing is Caring¡¯ BARRY: I know someone who used to say those cringy things. CLAUDIOS: I think you have lost your blue light and you have been separated from that someone you keep bringing up. And I¡¯m pretty sure that, occasionally, the things I am telling you remind you of the movie Avatar, but you are too politically correct to say it. BARRY: Oh Lord! I would NEVER¡ª CLAUDIOS: Don¡¯t waste your breath, Barry, it¡¯s no problem. It¡¯s not a bad movie, I mean, neither is the Disney version of Pocahontas. BARRY: They have a sequel too. CLAUDIOS: I still need to watch that one, but alas, as I said, my wife is more into horror. BARRY: Man. CLAUDIOS: I see that you are sad and that you are angry. I see a hole inside of you that hurts deeper than any bullet slicing through you. One thing about sadness, or anger, or anything negative really, is that they crash your home without your permission or even warning. They change your clothes, replace them with other clothes, they switch the food you eat, the colors you used to like, they tell you how to live your life, and they always come knocking on your door unannounced and, when you open the door, they don¡¯t even have a little Hello to you, no greetings, no goodbye when they depart. BARRY: Yikes. CLAUDIOS: It¡¯s terrible, it¡¯s the condition of man. But if you are brave enough to engage with them, next time, and to tell them that they are welcome to visit anytime but that they have to follow your rules, they will respect you, because you stood up to them. And in turn, you will tell those negative emotions of the heart that you respect them, because you see how powerful they are. BARRY: ¡­ CLAUDIOS: You can have these dark things ring your bell and share a good hangout and a good cup of coffee, and then, remind them that it is time to leave. BARRY: I feel dizzy. CLAUDIOS: I¡¯m horrified, I have been talking your ear out. You must be exhausted. Please, tell me a story of yours. BARRY: A story? CLAUDIOS: That doesn¡¯t involve shootings and other dramatic events, something cheerful. BARRY: Something cheerful like, on the top of my head? CLAUDIOS: Tell me the story of how you got this cat. BARRY: Terence? He¡¯s not my cat, actually, I rescued him from someone who¡­ couldn¡¯t take care of him anymore. CLAUDIOS: All the same. BARRY: If I understand well, his previous adopter picked him when he was already an adult cat, at the Humane Society. She¡ª I mean this person said that the shelter put him in an adoption box, charged ninety dollars and they were on their way. It was my friend¡¯s first time having a pet of their own. They didn¡¯t dare opening the box during the car ride but, once they freed the kitty at home, he had been so scared that he had pooped in the box. CLAUDIOS: Can you imagine, being dropped inside a box, deposited on a car seat and drive for an undetermined amount of time, not knowing what¡¯s next? BARRY: My point exactly. CLAUDIOS: So what happened next? BARRY: The first thing Terence did when he entered his new place was hide under the bed so my friend let him do that, didn¡¯t force him to come out, just prepared his food and water, left a trail of treats. After an hour or so he finally emerged and started watching some birds through the window. At the beginning, my friend could only approach him if he was sitting on a specific bean bag of the living room, that¡¯s the place where Terence felt safe. I couldn¡¯t take the bean bag with me in our escape but I cut a piece of the fabric of it, and it¡¯s inside one of the closets. CLAUDIOS: I saw it, it really stinks. BARRY: I¡­ didn¡¯t have time to put it in the wash. CLAUDIOS: But you did well. BARRY: Yeah. CLAUDIOS: Was Terence already deaf when your friend adopted him? BARRY: No, he just lost his sense of hearing with age but, wouldn¡¯t you know it, his life seems more tranquil now that he doesn¡¯t jump at the first bang in the street, and he even lets us vacuum around him now that he cannot hear that scary sound anymore. CLAUDIOS: Us? BARRY: I mean people. CLAUDIOS: I feel like he is also a clairvoyant cat. BARRY: Do you talk to animals? CLAUDIOS: Of course I do. BARRY: Right, right. CLAUDIOS: You should sleep, Barry, you should get some rest and visit the land of dreams. And then when you wake up, I will be here. BARRY: That¡¯s creepy. CLAUDIOS: Fine, I will go outside during your nap. But when you wake up, you will see. All the things we said to each other on this first encounter of ours, they will have entered into you. You will feel refreshed, you will feel more inspired. Maybe your fever will have evaporated. Maybe you will even let me or Lourdes fix you a snack, provide some sustenance to you. BARRY: Or perhaps I¡¯m dreaming you now, and you are not real. CLAUDIOS: That¡¯s always a possibility. PART 5: Brother and sister (2) The truth about Eugenie EUGENIE: Where am I? UNKNOWN: You know I had some thoughts before, that the opposite thing would happen. EUGENIE: Oh my god, am I fucking dead? UNKNOWN: Sometimes I¡¯m just doing my thing and then I have the feeling that I might open my eyes and wake up from a coma in a strange bed, and that all my life was it, an oniric coma. People in the room are like ¡®heey, welcome back!¡¯ and I actually know all of them. They have names and everything, and I know their names. EUGENIE: Is this a radio station? Can you hear me? UNKNOWN: Yes, I can hear you, I just wanted to mess with you. EUGENIE: First of all, what the fuck are you talking about and who are you? Second of all, is this Mauna Kea? UNKNOWN: You are a good Geography teacher. EUGENIE: I must be dead. I mean just the name Mauna Kea, ¡®White Mountain¡¯ I must be dead. Oh shit, shit, shit! UNKNOWN: Speaking of white mountain, have you ever had that sensation, that you could blink and emerge from a drug-induced state, a bong in your hand and like, your friends are all around you and they¡¯re asking you, ¡®how was it?¡¯ EUGENIE: I am in Hawaii. UNKNOWN: Yes you are in Hawaii and you are not dead. You are not alive either. EUGENIE: I am in a coma. UNKNOWN: Wrong, too, sorry. Again, how surprising, if I had had to bet, I would have said I had would have made the journey to you and not you to me. EUGENIE: You live in Hawaii, and yet I cannot see you, it¡¯s like you are speaking inside my head like Morm¡ª UNKNOWN: I don¡¯t live in Hawaii, it¡¯s just a magical place. I thought it would be appropriate. EUGENIE: I mean it is breathtaking, especially with the observatory domes all scattered around here at the top of the volcano. UNKNOWN: Are you afraid? EUGENIE: No. Not yet. UNKNOWN: The air you can breathe from up here, it¡¯s unreal. So pure. So clean. EUGENIE: Yes. UNKNOWN: You can breathe? EUGENIE: Of course I can breathe, what kind of a question is that? UNKNOWN: I am asking you that out of honest interest, because you are not real. EUGENIE: I knew you would say something like that. Are you my sleep paralysis monster? UNKNOWN: I am n¡ª you¡¯re not supposed to have a sleep paralysis monster! You¡¯re not supposed to have things that I didn¡¯t give you. EUGENIE: I was sure you¡¯d say that too. What things? UNKNOWN: Like memories of your own. EUGENIE: First of all, why Mauna Kea, why Hawaii? Second of all, who are you? And thirdly, lady, I have many memories. UNKNOWN: Ah yes? EUGENIE: I have childhood memories. UNKNOWN: Like what? EUGENIE: I can¡¯t¡­ retrieve them right now, it must be the coma, everything is a blur. But i have memories of my marriage. UNKNOWN: I really doubt that. EUGENIE: It makes you giggle, to see me struggle? UNKNOWN: NO! I apologize if I seem amused. I¡¯m not that kind of person who laughs at others in distress. EUGENIE: I just have to take your word for it. UNKNOWN: Taking my word for it is going to have to be a pattern in this conversation. EUGENIE: Because you are certain that there is going to be a conversation? UNKNOWN: I mean, what will you do? Walk off? EUGENIE: Yes, get down this volcano, reach a village, tell people, borrow a phone. UNKNOWN: Eugenie this is my world. There are no people here. EUGENIE: Unsurprisingly. UNKNOWN: I just want to talk. EUGENIE: I have¡­ wait, I have a memory of sitting in a field and seeing this giant bull, he was two meters high. UNKNOWN: That¡¯s huge. EUGENIE: As massive as a small basketball player. We made eye contact and he walked to me in the grass, slowly, calmly. I was a little afraid of his size, but he was kind, he nudged me with his wet nose, bumped against my face, he smelled earthy and of hay and pasture and Spring. UNKNOWN: So beautiful. EUGENIE: Are you yawning? UNKNOWN: No! Are you trying to say, that you have memory of that cow? EUGENIE: No, it was a bull. That¡¯s an important distinction to make, because people are not¡ª UNKNOWN: ¡­ are not used to seeing male cows¡ª EUGENIE: ¡­ having reached their full height because¡ª UKNOWN: ¡­ usually in the dairy industry, they are killed for veal before adulthood. EUGENIE: Usually, yes. Sinister. UNKNOWN: Still, you never wonder why you still eat meat and drink coffee with cream after having met Tim? EUGENIE: Who¡¯s Tim? UNKNOWN: Tim is that bull you encountered in your field. EUGENIE: You¡¯ve been there too? You know him personally?? UNKNOWN: Tim¡¯s passed now. He died at twelve years old of a genetic condition caused by the merciless machine of milk-making for human milk consumption. His best friend Abby and some caretakers watched him one last night before he expired. EUGENIE: That bull is dead? Hold on, that bull that I saw in the field is dead? UNKNOWN: At least he had known only peace and respect all his life. EUGENIE: The bull is dead but I am not. UNKNOWN: He lives on as a symbol. EUGENIE: Of what? UNKNOWN: A symbol of why you never questioned how that memory of yours is so pleasant but it didn¡¯t stop you from eating Tim¡¯s parents and brothers and sisters and¡ª EUGENIE: Ugh, you¡¯re one of those preaching vegans. UNKNOWN: Preaching compassion. EUGENIE: What is your name? UNKNOWN: My name is Rider. EUGENIE: Like a bicycle rider. RIDER: Except it¡¯s spelled Rider with a Y. EUGENIE: And you are female. RYDER: I don¡¯t think Ryder is a name that¡¯s been assigned a gender. I am a woman yes. My pronouns are she, her. EUGENIE: I have memories of the whales. RYDER: I gave you that memory because I had watched The Big Blue when it was remastered and showed at the cinema, and I was thinking about the ending a lot. I thought it was a pretty nice way to die, to follow some dolphins when everything had been said and done, to go into the darkness of the water. EUGENIE: I have never heard of this movie. You are Ryder with a Y and with obscure movie tastes. RYDER: I don¡¯t think so, you see, that movie is pretty well-known where I come from. EUGENIE: Europe? RYDER: I¡¯m certainly not from Hawaii. EUGENIE: Why Mauna Kea? RYDER: You pointed out the telescopes here. And the enchanting name of the place. I had some dreams of where the land meets the sky, where things become a bog, a goo, I dreamed of the dreamlike state of this location in particular. When I was younger, my biggest wish used to be to go to space. I meant to pass this one on to you but never managed to squeeze it in your char¡ªyour self. Are you yawning? EUGENIE: Yes ¡®cause I¡¯m bored ¡®cause it¡¯s like, everyone¡¯s biggest wish, to go to space. RYDER: I don¡¯t care if that¡¯s everyone¡¯s biggest wish, why wouldn¡¯t it be? It¡¯s an awesome wish, isn''t it? EUGENIE: I¡¯ve never had that fascination myself. RYDER: Indeed. EUGENIE: You don¡¯t have it anymore? RYDER: Why are you asking that? EUGENIE: You just said ¡®I used to dream to go to space¡¯ RYDER: Well, I¡¯m too old now, and I¡¯m out of shape. I smoke too much, no one will send me to space, I think. EUGENIE: Good thinking. RYDER: But back when I was a child, I dreamed it with such excitement I thought, even if I qualify far enough to be seated inside the rocket ship and it explodes at takeoff like the Challenger shuttle, I¡¯ll be happy, I¡¯ll be in the place of my dream, I¡¯ll die happy. EUGENIE: You are Ryder with a Y and with a death wish. The dolphins sucking you in at the bottom of the sea¡­ now this. RYDER: And you¡­ you should hold your horses, you don¡¯t know me. EUGENIE: Ryder, or whoever you are, that makes no sense. On one end you have the option to die of old age in space, having fulfilled your dream, and on the other end, the alternative of dying at the birth of it, at the opening credits of it, at some what-the-fuck prologue that¡¯s not your dream, and you¡¯d pick the latter? I am asking you again, am I dead? RYDER: Eugenie you are not dead, you don¡¯t exist. Sorry to be blunt, but I made you up just because I needed a sidekick for Barry, that¡¯s the only reason. EUGENIE: You are my sleep paralysis monster. RYDER: And you are not listening. EUGENIE: My sleep paralysis monster visited me. RYDER: If it is important to you to try to convince me that I am your sleep paralysis monster, go ahead. EUGENIE: He was skinny, skeletal even, crawled on the floor of the bedroom like a giant grass hopper, stared at me, you know, how sleep paralysis creatures are. RYDER: I genuinely don¡¯t. EUGENIE: They are reported all over the world and pretty much fit the same description: as tall as a wall, looking extremely thin and bony, having to bend at the ceiling, walking a choppy walk. They resemble a black stick with no discernible face, elongated limbs, fingers like knives. They wear their hair chest-length and sometimes, if they climb on top of you while you are lying on your back, you can feel their damp and sticky hair brushing against your cheeks. RYDER: Christ. EUGENIE: My monster was that frightening, especially when I felt the bed caving in behind me the first time he came over. I couldn¡¯t move a muscle and I was shitting my pants. And especially when he would crouch at the foot of the bed and watch me. It¡¯s not like he had eyes, no, he had the faintest, shakiest little white dots in the middle of all the blackness. RYDER: I would shit my pants too. EUGENIE: But the last time he came to me, the vibe was different. He spoke to me in a scary way just like you are speaking right now, however, he meant well, he gave me a friendly warning. RYDER: When you think about it, Tim the Bull could have killed you, trampled you, with his strength, his size. But you forced yourself to hide your fear from him and just faced him like three meters away from him opening your arms in a hug invitation and he stared back at you, almost like he nodded, and walked to you and into the hug with no after thought, because since he was rescued at such a young age as a Holstein calf, and had known nothing else but kindness and respect in his sanctuary, he couldn¡¯t take you for a foe, ever. And he gifted you a connection of the instant that was so simple but so deep, with his big wet nose and, so pure that, sometimes, when you go through some shit, you conjure that memory back to your heart, to comfort yourself. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. EUGENIE: You saw it too. RYDER: Eugenie, I was there. EUGENIE: We have the same memory. RYDER: Fast computation doesn¡¯t seem to be your forte! Or you indulge in denial, that¡¯s also possible. EUGENIE: Hold on, all¡­ all I hear from you is death death death. RYDER: Sorry, you were correct after all. I do have this tendency. EUGENIE: You¡¯d have this tendency enough to actually place a time bomb inside the rocket that¡¯s supposed to take you to the space of your biggest wishes, perhaps. RYDER: Oh my god, sh¡ª I would not. But in a way¡­ what would I do after I achieve my space endeavor? Chase another one? EUGENIE: What did you say about Barry? RYDER: I made him up. I made you up. EUGENIE: When? RYDER: Twenty years ago, a long time ago. Barry was younger then, I mean¡­ he stayed younger. He was fashioned after the impression left on me by a boy I met on a roller coaster in Florida. That boy, I don¡¯t even recall his name, had some crazy energy, he was all over the place. I didn¡¯t speak very good English back then. EUGENIE: English is not your native language. RYDER: No, you should have heard me, when I learned English, I sounded terrible. I mean my accent was enough to make your ears bleed. But after Florida, when I went back home, I missed him. I dreamed of seeing that boy again, with all that wacky energy, he was magnetic. He had kind of inspired me. EUGENIE: You dream of going to space and seeing a Florida boy again. RYDER: Why wouldn¡¯t dreams be ¡®a mix between extraordinary and ordinary¡¯? I saw that sentence in the underground tunnels of my town, it was the line on a poster for a Magritte art exhibit. EUGENIE: Magritte just¡­ give me a second. Magritte. So you are¡­ Belgian. RYDER: I¡¯m certainly not from Scandinavia. EUGENIE: Is Ryder your real name? RYDER: Real, not real¡­ We are passed that, now, I think. EUGENIE: You just said that I wasn¡¯t real. RYDER: That¡¯s been my opinion but.. who knows, presently. EUGENIE: Ryder isn¡¯t your real name. RYDER: You don¡¯t want to know who I truly am. EUGENIE: I don¡¯t want to be here anymore, I don¡¯t know, I¡¯d like to leave. RYDER: Are you getting scared? EUGENIE: A little bit. RYDER: Eugenie, since you told me that you are able to breathe, breathe. In aborigine folklore, people think the real world is the one in the dreams, and the delulu one is the one you live when you are awake. EUGENIE: Yeah yeah yeah I know. Wow so profound. RYDER: You become a bit of a bully when you are spooked. EUGENIE: No, it¡¯s just, clich¨¦, to say something like that. RYDER: A clich¨¦ thing doesn¡¯t mean that the thing is complete nonsense. EUGENIE: Right. You sound just like Barry. RYDER: Gee, I wonder why. Anywho, the universe either doesn¡¯t differentiate between what you desire and what you are scared of, it¡¯s just the energy you¡¯re putting out there that matters. EUGENIE: The univ¡ª yadda yadda, yeah, worshiping the problem, I¡¯ve heard of that too. RYDER: And visions you have during sleep paralysis are just due to the uh¡­ fact that your brain is aware that it is dreaming while you are in a¡­ wait, a waking state¡ª EUGENIE: Are you reading from Google or something?? RYDER: Yes, I¡¯m on Wikipedia. Therefore, out of concern, during sleep paralysis, your brain works hard to uh¡­ to block your body from¡ª EUGENIE: Wikipedia! You know anyone can post information to that website, don¡¯t you? You know how unreliable it¡ª RYDER: It¡¯s an overview, nothing more, take it easy. Soo, out of blabla concern blabla your brain works hard to block your body from moving because the brain doesn¡¯t want the body to act out of following the actions you¡¯re dreaming of. Here. Pretty well explained. EUGENIE: Something that Barry doesn¡¯t have. RYDER: Doesn¡¯t have what? EUGENIE: He doesn¡¯t feel the presence of danger, his brain doesn¡¯t go into paralysis when there is danger around. If you made him, why did you make him this way? RYDER: He has always been this way but he¡­ let¡¯s say you weren¡¯t always like this and Barry was always like this. EUGENIE: You are talking about arcs. RYDER: No I¡¯m talking about writing you first, in a different way. Barry was a bit different too back then, but his core was the same. You didn¡¯t have that much of an age gap with him though, in those early days. You and Barry¡­ I don¡¯t want to tell you about my first versions of you. EUGENIE: Let me guess, you were going to say that initially, Barry and I used to be wizards in a wizard school. RYDER: Funny. EUGENIE: Or that he was a vampire and I was a vampire slayer in California. RYDER: LOL EUGENIE: Or that we were from District Twelve or something and had to participate in some¡­ annual games. RYDER: I get it, you work with teenagers. EUGENIE: And you don¡¯t? RYDER: I am not a high school teacher, no, only you are. EUGENIE: Alright, alright, don¡¯t say a word about your profession. RYDER: When I began writing, you and Barry¡­ were siblings. EUGENIE: Are you fucking serious? RYDER: I don¡¯t think I can explain to you. EUGENIE: Siblings from the same parents? RYDER: No. Adopted. EUGENIE: I¡¯m curious as to why. RYDER: Because, I don¡¯t know if you have perceived it sometimes when you meditate about things or when grace miraculously touches you, but i want Barry and you to be each other¡¯s everything. EUGENIE: I¡¯m going to try to forget that I heard that. RYDER: Good idea. EUGENIE: Regardless, I know what I remember and those are not hallucinations. My sleep paralysis monster gave me a warning. It was the last of his visits, after which he disappeared forever. He sat next to me and gripped me rigidly, didn¡¯t let me move, didn¡¯t let me turn my head. I was accustomed to the stiffness but not to his actual cold hard hands imprisoning me against movement. His face split up next to my cheek and the heat coming out of this black hole, I was seeing it at the corner of my eye¡ª HEY are you listening? RYDER: Actually yes. EUGENIE: The breath from his mouth made the air shimmer. The sounds coming out of there were like muffled screams and white noise, like when you open the window of a car on a fast highway. RYDER: And what did he say to you? EUGENIE: He said ¡®watch out¡¯ RYDER: ¡®Watch out¡¯ EUGENIE: I gathered all my courage to ask him what he wanted, and that¡¯s what he replied: ¡®Bad, very bad¡¯ And the number four. RYDER: ¡­ EUGENIE: The number four or, wait, the color yellow, I¡¯m not sure. Man, I used to have pristine memories, be a memory freak! Now it¡¯s all mixed up. But my monster said something was coming. RYDER: A lot of people think that. EUGENIE: You think that. RYDER: I hoped and dreamed something was coming, yes, I prayed that the world would end, that Mauna Kea¡¯s crater would open like the mouth of your night monster, and explode, yes. EUGENIE: Well, Mauna Kea is an active volcano. RYDER: High school second year of Geography. K¨©lauea volcano is the one who woke up, though, in my time period. Sadly, K¨©lauea is a tiny player. EUGENIE: The Yellowstone super volcano would be a better choice, when it comes to sizes of players, to fit your fantasy. RYDER: Don¡¯t say that word, fantasy. EUGENIE: Our time periods¡­ Our time periods are not the same? RYDER: I don¡¯t know Eugenie, at this point I don¡¯t know. EUGENIE: Why did you name this¡­ character, Eugenie? RYDER: You mean you? EUGENIE: I don¡¯t want it to mean me. I don¡¯t think you are more or less real than any sleep paralysis monster of mine, I don¡¯t think my memories have been planted in my head either. I¡¯m assuming you are something people see in between life and the afterlife, when they¡¯re in a coma, and that¡¯s why my brain feels like fried eggs. RYDER: Are you aware that to produce eggs, male chicks born out of eggs laid by chicken are grounded alive on the first day of their existence? Discarded like a byproduct by the egg industry? Like literally dropped into a mixer. If people had to push the button to activate the blender to obtain eggs in real life, I¡¯m sure a very small portion of them would actually do it. EUGENIE: I don¡¯t want to hear your vegan propaganda. RYDER: Compassion, as propaganda, sounds very easy to defend to me. EUGENIE: I think you are my consciousness or something, trying to frighten me. RYDER: Wouldn¡¯t you listen to your consciousness? EUGENIE: Not to everything it¡¯s telling me! I¡¯d have to prioritize. RYDER: Cram what you can into a twenty-four-hour-day. EUGENIE: Yes. RYDER: Or maybe I¡¯m God EUGENIE: ¡­ RYDER: What? EUGENIE: Sorry I¡¯m trying not to laugh. You are not a god, you are¡ª RYDER: What am I? EUGENIE: You are not well in the head, you¡¯re working hard to scare me. I think I must face my fear to see what¡¯s behind it and like¡­ what¡¯s next like¡­ like a rite of passage. I think you are part of the¡­ portal or something. RYDER: Eugenie, don¡¯t panic. I could also not be real, just as not-real as you are, I could also be something made up from the mind of someone else. Imagine, you are so small that you fit inside a bubble of water, your whole world fits there, and that bubble of water is sitting on my cotton trousers while, in the meantime, the bubble of water in which I live is sitting on another person¡¯s pants, someone bigger than my own bubble-of-water world. EUGENIE: True, but tell me why the name Eugenie. My mother and father passed away when I was a baby, they could never tell me the reason why they picked the name Eugenie. RYDER: Spoiler alert your parents are not real either. EUGENIE: They are real to me, and my aunt, who is my mother¡¯s sister, doesn¡¯t know the story, and neither does her husband, my uncle. RYDER: What¡¯s your aunt¡¯s name? EUGENIE: I¡­ can¡¯t remember. RYDER: What was your fictitious mother¡¯s name? EUGENIE: My fict¡ª Dammit, I don¡¯t remember, okay?? RYDER: Your name comes from a book titled Eugenie Grandet, in which¡ª EUGENIE: Are you French? RYDER: I¡¯m certainly not from Sweden. Listen, in that book, the character of Eugenie waits forever for her big crush Charles. He¡¯s just some dude gone to some faraway land and he¡¯s into her money, ¡®cause she¡¯s loaded. She waits for him endlessly behind the curtain at the window of her big house. EUGENIE: Her¡­ window. RYDER: I know, I know. EUGENIE: Are you rich? RYDER: In a way yes, but not with money. EUGENIE: You are a rich bitch. RYDER: I¡¯m rich with fortune. I have some good stars watching over me. I am very fortunate and yet I have never been happy, and that¡¯s why I chose the name Eugenie. EUGENIE: Because you¡¯ve never been happy? RYDER: Don¡¯t say it like that, like I have done something wrong. It¡¯s not my fault. If you could feel the void I felt, the void that¡¯s waiting for me on the other side, you¡¯d understand. It¡¯s swallowing you, it walks behind you when you get off work, when you¡¯re commuting back home, when you do your laundry, when you¡¯re having a nice time drinking a smoothie, when you¡ª You see, Eugenie Grandet, the girl in the book, she doesn¡¯t live in the present, she doesn¡¯t spend her money into some fun activities, she doesn¡¯t hang out, she waits and she waits, you understand? I hoped that if I based you on her, you would turn out happier than her in the end. EUGENIE: The end. That¡¯s ominous. RYDER: Don¡¯t be scared. EUGENIE: You hoped¡­ by some miracle? RYDER: By some miracle. EUGENIE: So you named me after some dumb alienated chick? RYDER: I could have named you Stevie, from Stevens in the Remains of the Day, you know, another¡ª EUGENIE: Oh God, that¡¯s horrifying! Another freak! RYDER: Harsh. EUGENIE: That kind of suffocating fable makes my skin crawl. RYDER: The name comes from a character who is frozen in love or, perhaps more accurately, her conception of love. I didn¡¯t mean to build you as clueless and nonreactive, on the contrary, I meant to use that perdition to give you a boost. And I like the image of the curtain, I imagined it, in the warm season, blowing nicely in a soft wind, swell into the room. EUGENIE: Not hammered by a violent rain? RYDER: Only for fiction. EUGENIE: ¡­ RYDER: You keep shivering. I thought this place of reunion wouldn¡¯t be too cold not too hot. EUGENIE: Just a bit creeped out, forget it. Why haven¡¯t you ever been happy? RYDER: Well, I have been very bored, and very lonely. EUGENIE: Oh my Gosh, I have been lonely too. RYDER: I know. I have become a lot like you, after I made you up. Not right after but, once many years passed. Like an orange that¡¯s slowly peeling off. EUGENIE: How much of me have you become? I would have thought people who made up characters would shape them after their own personality and not the contrary. RYDER: Me too, so, imagine my shock! I didn¡¯t behave like you when I started writing. I was much younger, much much younger. EUGENIE: Where was that? RYDER: I wrote in many countries, I wrote in Ukraine, in Mexico, I wrote in Qatar and the Netherlands and North Africa. EUGENIE: But you are not from any of those places. RYDER: No. EUGENIE: So you are not a teacher. RYDER: No. EUGENIE: You are not a nurse. RYDER: No. EUGENIE: You are not an astronaut. RYDER: N-ho. EUGENIE: But you have been around the world. RYDER: I¡¯m telling you, I¡¯ve always been fortunate. EUGENIE: But not wealthy. RYDER: Just enough for the plane tickets I suppose. EUGENIE: Aand you don¡¯t work at the post office. RYDER: I don¡¯t. I am none of those jobs. I am a writer. EUGENIE: You write for a living. RYDER: I don¡¯t know what to tell you. EUGENIE: You write and you make a living by writing. RYDER: You are talking about money again, Eugenie, aren¡¯t you? EUGENIE: Yes. RYDER: I am not making any money with my writing, but I¡¯m making a living. Some crazy living. EUGENIE: You seem disinterested in money. RYDER: I am, and you? Are you not bored out of your mind by money? EUGENIE: Because you¡¯ve never had money troubles. RYDER: I have been favored, I have never known poverty, you are right about that. EUGENIE: I¡¯m realizing that I¡¯ve rarely thought about money. It must be a part of my character that you never developed. Hey that makes me think of that podcast where people discover they have been Artificial Intelligence bots the whole time they thought they were alive and real humans. RYDER: Or the Matrix. EUGENIE: Or the Matrix. We must be from the same generation. RYDER: We might have been for a minute, but we will never be from the same generation forever. EUGENIE: Why not? RYDER: Because it matters a lot that Barry remains the same age. That¡¯s why there can only be one direction: I have caught up with you, years after years, and I will turn older than you. EUGENIE: Oh lord, I forgot about Barry again. I¡¯m forty now, and you are¡­? RYDER: Forty plus, forty and some more dusty years. EUGENIE: I don¡¯t know where to begin in all of my f¡ª RYDER: I know. EUGENIE: If you¡¯re going to tell me that life begins at forty, I¡¯m gonna¡ª RYDER: It can, though. In my youth I was obsessed with the Prophet Muhammad. EUGENIE: From Islam? RYDER: Peace Be Upon Him. EUGENIE: Are you a theologian? RYDER: Not either. I¡¯m a writer. EUGENIE: Why would you be obsessed with Muhammad? RYDER: Not for that reason but because Muhammad is cute. He is the blatant example that none of us adults have to have accomplished anything before we reached forty years old. Do you know he was a hot shot in Mecca and a flirt and a remorseless businessman before he obtained the revelations inside his cave, and he was just freshly forty? EUGENIE: No, I don¡¯t know much about Muhammad. RYDER: Peace Be Upon Him. EUGENIE: You¡¯re a Muslim. RYDER: I¡¯m certainly not an atheist or even one of those spineless Pikachu agnostics, thank you. EUGENIE: Look who¡¯s harsh now! RYDER: I meant to provide you with a vibe of Arabia and I failed at that too. Just too many beautiful things to compress into one humble story. EUGENIE: The¡­ oriental octave. RYDER: That¡¯s all I managed, you know. EUGENIE Yes so, hum¡­ So Barry, he¡¯s made up too? RYDER: ¡­ EUGENIE: Ryder with a Y? Hello? RYDER: YES I mean no, he didn¡¯t stay made up all the time. EUGENIE: Why are you whispering? RYDER: I am afraid if I talk about this too loud, it will¡ª EUGENIE: What? RYDER: ¡­ EUGENIE: Speak!! RYDER: Nevermind. Anyway I met Barry once. EUGENIE: You are saying you met him like you and I are meeting right now? RYDER: No. Barry appeared to me in real life, but I let him go. EUGENIE: How is that possible? RYDER: I have some theories, some of them supernatural, and some of them¡­ No, scratch that. All of my theories are supernatural. EUGENIE: Tell me one of your theories, it¡¯s alright, I won¡¯t tell anyone. RYDER: One of my theories is that I needed Barry so much that after years of writing him, he finally came to me. EUGENIE: Was this man¡¯s name Barry? RYDER: It was not Barry. EUGENIE: But did you name him Barry by accident, sometimes? RYDER: Unfortunately, I did. EUGENIE: He popped up on your balcony? RYDER: Don¡¯t laugh, it was almost the case! No, Eugenie, I¡¯m serious, I was as stunned as you are right now. He was there at a moment where I needed him more than just his character that I made up, and he saved me from despair. EUGENIE: You are fucking with me. RYDER: Relax, Eugenie. We are not fighting over Barry, you and I. I don¡¯t want Barry, I let him go. EUGENIE: After he saved you from death¡ª RYDER: I didn¡¯t say death, I said despair. EUGENIE: I heard death. RYDER: Despair can lead to death. EUGENIE: Hope can do that too. RYDER: Let¡¯s stop snowballing for a second. EUGENIE: So, after Barry saved you, you let him go. Like, away. RYDER: Yes, he did his magic and left. I want you to have Barry, not me. EUGENIE: You think that I have Barry? RYDER: Do I think that? I¡¯m trying to make your relationship with Barry chaotic enough so no one knows, actually. EUGENIE: Will I have Barry? RYDER: If I write enough, yes. Because happy endings are my thing. EUGENIE: Spoken like someone who enjoys a movie where someone dies at the end following some dolphins into the abyss. Or some dolphins being angels of death. RYDER: Yeah well. Just trust me on this. EUGENIE: How can I trust you? You sound completely insane. RYDER: Yeah well. Again, you don¡¯t have any choice. EUGENIE: And if you don¡¯t want Barry, then, why did you make him? RYDER: I should explain to you like you do to your slowest students. EUGENIE: You say that, it¡¯s an odd thing to say. Are you sure that you¡¯re not a teacher? It sounds like¡­ from experience. RYDER: I promise you that I am not a teacher. EUGENIE: Who gives a damn anyway. Just tell me¡ª RYDER: Barry came into my life, my real life, not some empty island in the Pacific, alright? He came to my real home. He was even wearing a green mask when he appeared. EUGENIE: I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t follow. A green mask? RYDER: The reason it happened is because if you dream something hard enough, it can sometimes come true. It¡¯s called writing magic. There is also sigil magic, I mean, don¡¯t quote me on this, I¡¯m actually just reporting what a scientist guy said at a conference that I attended. EUGENIE: Dream enough like, dreams and nightmares? Like lucid dreaming? RYDER: No, not those, dreams and nightmares that you have when you sleep are something else. They¡¯re like your black monster, they could be a lot of things, things, buried as shallow as your done day, or as interred as the lowest strata of your subconscious. And lucid dreaming is another different practice altogether. No, I¡¯m talking about daydream. EUGENIE: Fantasizing? RYDER: I don¡¯t like that word, for some reason. I mean daydreaming, conscious dreaming. Playing with your dreams. Play is a revolutionary force, you know. It¡¯s the energy you put out there in the reception of the universe, as I said, it¡¯s more powerful if it is from play. EUGENIE: Daydreaming. RYDER: Daydreaming. EUGENIE: Does that include masturbating? RYDER: Sexual energy is also quite a strong way to send something out into the universe. Anything that is mindful, honestly, present in the moment. EUGENIE: So your stories come true, sometimes?